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AS. /0/S. 



.^. .■■>?:^ ■-:'^..: 



RHYMES AND RECOLLECTIONS 



OF 



A HAND-LOOM WEAVES. 



J 




/lc^^l. //a r 



yo^^^t juit^ AA-i^^^ 



fr-Vv^ 



RHYMES AND RECOLLECTIONS 



OF 



A HAND-LOOM WEAVEB. 



By WILLIAM THOM, x,^ 



OP 



INVERURY. 



" An' syne whan nichts grew cauld an' lang, 
Ae while he sicht— ae while he sang." 

Old Ballad. 



SECOND EDITION, 

WITH ADnrrioKs. 




^im} 



LONDON: 
SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 



1845. 



London : 

Printod by Ftewart and Murhat, 

Grwn Arbour Court, Old Bailey. 



THIS BOOK IS PRESENTED 

t 



TO 

EMMA KATHAEINE GOEDON, 

LADY OF KNOCKESPOCK, 

BY 



Clfte ISiuttor, 



WHO HAD THE HAPPINESS FOB A TIME TO BE A SHABEB 

IN THE GENEBAL GLADNESS OF HEB HOME; 
WHEBE MANY, AS WELL AS HE, BEGBET 



SHE LEAVES WHEN AUTUMN WEABY 
BEDS WINTEB WASTE THE PLAIN; 

SHE LOOKS ON LANDS MAIB CHEABY, 
* TIL OUBS ABE GBEEN AGAIN. 



OH, WOULD SHE DWELL AMONG US 
WHEN DALES ABE DEEP Wl' 8NAW, 

DOUB WINTEB COULD NA WBANG US, 
NOB SIMMEB SEEM AWA\ 



Kkockespock, 

September^ 1844. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

* DEDICATION TO MBS. GORDON, OF KNOCKE8POGK. 

TO THE READER. 1 

* PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION .... 5 

* RECOLLECTIONS 7 

DITTO 21 

DITTO 39 

THE BLIND BOT*S PRANKS, NO. 1 53 

» „ „ NO. U 57 

- „ „ f) NO. HI* • • • • Oo 

* LINES OCCASIONED BT THE SUDDEN DEATH OF COUNT 

JOHN LESLIE OF BALQUHAIN AND FETTERNEIR . 67 

* WHISPERINGS FOR THE UNWASHED . . . .72 

THE lAANIAC MOTHER'S DREAM 77 

OLD FATHER FROST AND HIS FAMILY . .84 
AUTUMN WINDS . 89 

OH, mart! when tou think of me . . .91 

iVe sought in lands ayont the sea . . .93 

I WOULDNA — oh! I COULDNA LOOK .... 95 

jeanib's grave 97 

THET SPEAK o' WTLE8 . 99 

THE LAST TRTST 100 

ONE OF THE HEART's STRUGGLES 102 

TE DINNA KEN TON BOWER 104 

* Not in First Edition. 



• • • 



VIU CONTENTS. 

Pag« 

BONNIE MAY 106 

JUNES WRITTEN AT BAYENSCBAIQ 108 

A LETTEB TO THE EDITOR OP THE . . . .110 

THE OYERGATE OP DUNDEE ORPHAN . . . .112 

TTHAN8IDE . . . 114 

A CHIEPTAIN UNKNOWN TO THE QUEEN . . .117 

THE DRUNKARD^S DREAM 119 

CAN TE FORGET? 121 

THE LASS O^ KINTORE 123 

DID THET MEET AGAIN ? 125 

THE liASS Wf THE WANDERIn' b'b .... 127 

MT HEATHER LAND 129 

MT HAMELESS HA' 131 

letter to j. robertson, esq 133 

to my son willie 134 

" in the infibmaby 136 

dbeamings op the bebeayed 138 

the mithebless baibn 140 

the wedded watebs 142 

oh, that my loye was so easily won ! . . . 144 

seco^d loye 146 

addbess to the don 147 

* whispeb low 150 

'*' glamoubie ; or, mesmebism as we haye it at inyebuby 152 

* school op industby, abebdeen 155 

* monitob's song 156 

* the stbicken bbanch 159 

* the pishebmen 162 

* lines suggested by the abo ye disasteb . . .164 

* lines to miss lucy lawbence ottlby . . .166 
knockespock's lady (additional stanzas) .168 
NOTES, (by anotheb hand) 173 

INDEX OP PEBSONS AND PLACES 185 

the AUTHOB^S ACKNOWLEDGMENT . . . .191 

"* Not in First Edition. 



TO THE READEK. 



If, in my song or in my saying, there appears 
more of Egotism than enough, how can I avoid it 
and speak at all ? The narrative portion of these 
pages is a record of scenes and circumstances 
interwoven with my experience — with my destiny. 
Hence the necessity of my telling my own tale. 
Then the feelings and fancies, the pleasure and 
the pain, that for a time hovered about my aimless 
existence were all my own — my property. These 
aerial investments I held and fashioned into mea« 
sured verse. 

Thus, by the self- derived authority whereby I 
tell my own tale, do I sing my own song ; so 
that J, We^ and Us, are the all and all of the 
matter. The self-portraiture herein attempted is 
not altogether Egotism neither, inasmuch as the 



2 TO THE READER. 

main lineaments of the sketch are to be found in 
the separate histories of a thousand families in 
Scotland within these last ten years. That fact, 
however, being contemplated in mass, and in 
reference to its bulk only, acts more on the 
wonder than on the pity of mankind, as if human 
sympathies, like the human eye, could not com- 
pass an object exceedingly large, and same time 
exceedingly near. It is no small share in the end 
and aim of the present little work, to impart to 
one portion of the community a glimpse of what 
is sometimes going on in another; and even if 
only that is accomplished, some good service will be 
done. I have long had a notion that many of 
the heartburnings that run through the social 
WHOLE, spring, not so much from the distinctive- 
ness of classes, as their mutual ignorance of each 
other. The miserably rich look on the miserably 
poor with distrust and dread, scarcely giving them 
credit for sensibility suflBicient to feel their own 
sorrows. That is ignorance with its gilded side. 
The poor, in turn, foster a hatred of the wealthy 
as a sole inheritance — look on grandeur as their 
natural enemy, and bend to the rich man's rule 
in gall and bleeding scorn. Shallows on the one 



TO THE READER. 3 

side, and Demagogues on the other, are the por- 
tions that come oftenest into contact. These are 
the luckless things that skirt the great divisions, 
exchanging all that is oflfensive therein. " Man 
KNOW thyself" should be written on the right 
hand ; on the left, " Men know each other." 
It is a subject worthy of a wise head and a pithy 
pen. 

To these I leave it, and turn to tell my readers 
a few words more about this book. 

With very little exception, everything here pre- 
sented was written in Inverury, and within these 
last three years. The " Kecollections" are intro- 
duced for the sake of the " Rhymes," and in the 
same relationship as parent and child — one the 
offspring of the other ; and in that association 
alone can they be interesting. I write no more 
in either than what I knew — and not all of that — 
so Feeling has left Fancy little to do in the 
matter. 



B 2 



PEEFACE 



TO 



THE SECOND EDITION, 



Some degree of Fancy has fallen to my lot, — 
Judgment, in the better construction of the term, 
has been to me but sparingly doled out, — so, in- 
stead of building up a preface to my second 
edition in the ordinary thanksgivings to " gentle 
readers" and "discerning publics," 1 fancy it will 
serve as well, be as useful, to take a step " back- 
lan's," as we say in the North, and cut in a portion 
of recollections bearing on sundry matters previous 
to my settlement at Newtyle, in Forfarshire. 

I have read in some book, but I forget where, 
that every body has much in his life and fortunes 
worth knowing ; none in which a careful gleaner 
may not find something that will repay his notice. 
It must be so ; since life itself is but a lesson, long 
or short, smooth or rough, as may be ; and never 
was any one so dogged and dull but it taught him 



PRBFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 

something diflferent to all it taught to others. As 
there are not two human visages alike in every 
feature, so neither will be found two human desti- 
nies in every way alike. The lightest atom that 
floats in air will have its influence on man and 
kingdoms, — ^what wonder, then, if we differ in 
taste, in loving and in loathing, in brown hair or 
in black, in apparel to the body as in religion to 
the soul. We are governed by unsought visitants 
from earth, air, and sea, and by influences from 
each other ; and what we call " Will" is no more 
than the fact of our yielding to these influences ; 
but when these visitants And no fastening and 
pass away, we bravely pride ourselyes on sin 
resisted ! 



KECOLLECTIONS. 



Among the many stately buildings that now claim 
a stranger's notice as he approaches Aberdeen 
from the south, most of all will he admire the 
cluster of churches lately erected at the north end 
of Belmont Street. The change is grateful even 
to the eye, when one remembers the odious looking 
" richles " that for seventy long years disfigured 
that spot. How much more beautiful, and how 
emphatic the contrast in another and dearer light, 
to those who know the misery, the destroying 
influences, that during nearly a century were up- 
held and nourished within the dismal walls of 
the " School Hill Factory" — there, as once it stood, 
a prime nursery of vice and sorrow. Many, many 
a miserable wanderer in after years, of unrevealed 
suffering and bitter penitence could date that doom 
from the hour yon blue gates shut upon him. 
Virtue perished within its walls — utterly perished. 



8 RECOLLECTIONS. 

and was dreamed of no more ; or, if remembered 
at. all, only in a deep and woful sense of self- 
debasement — a struggling to forget, where it was 
hopeless to obtain. So Folly, Sin, and Shame 
stalked abroad from this grand nursery unheeded. 
Never mind that, it was a most " thriving concern" 
to its owners. It is a duty, do it who may — and it 
shall be done — to expose the factory system of that 
day, as it stood in our " moral North." Fairly 
to put the knife into the dead monster, lay bare 
its dark core, dissect it in broad day, that the 
world may see who had the fat and who the 
famine portion of that heartless trading. Then 
weep the folly of seeking beyond the ocean for that 
sin and slavery we had so rife at home. Meantime, 
here is oflfered only an undetailed view of the main 
elements, forbearing at present to trace their live- 
long influences on myself and others. True, the 
rubbishly stain is blotted from the earth — not so 
the evils it reared, and cast upon society. Nor 
are all its ancient tenants in the dust. At every 
turning of my native city, I meet the shadow of 
a former shopmate, haggard, and prematurely old, 
worn beyond the pale of usefulness on earth, 
sunken, perishing. 

God speed yon holy buildings, be they kirks 
Free or Fast. There they are instead of an olden- 
time factory ; and that it is so, the best wish 
that the best heart can form, the wish will be, that 
the new building become the means of rescuing 




RECOLLECTIONS. 9 

as many souls as the evil tutory of its predecessor 
has sent astray. 

About the year 1770 this work commenced, 
experimenting on a small way the jenny-spinning, 
then but lately discovered. After some time other 
houses were added, and the whole converted into 
one entire weaving factory : the company, a 
powerful one, having erected an extensive spinning- 
mill at Woodside, close by Aberdeen. Then was 
the daisy portion of weaving — the bright and mid- 
day period of all who pitched a shuttle, and of the 
happy one whose luck it was to win a weaver's 
smile. Four days did the weaver work, — for then 
four days was a week, as far as working went, — 
and such a week to a skilful workman brought 
forty shillings. Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, 
were of course jubilee. Lawn frills gorged freely 
from under the wrists of his fine blue, gilt-but- 
toned coat. He dusted his head with white flour 
on Sunday, smirked, and wore a cane. Walked 
in clean slippers on Monday — Tuesday heard him 
talk war bravado, quote Volney, and get drunk. 
Weaving commenced gradually on Wednesday : 
then were little children pirn-fillers, and such were 
taught to steal warily past the gate-keeper, con- 
cealing the bottle. These " wee " smugglers had 
a drop for their services,* over and beyond their 
chances of profiting by the elegant and edifying 

* They know little of the matter who know only the physical evils 
bred in fectories. 

B 6 



10 RECOLLECTIONS. 

discussions uttered in their hearing. Infidelity was 
just then getting fashionable. When I first became 
an inmate of this building in 1814, only two or 
three veteran fools lived to feel the deplorable 
change that had overtaken our helpless calling, 
and to witness the more deplorable continuance 
and extending of habits begun and fostered by 
them in years of fulness, yet still clinging to the 
lean frame and torn doublet of the tenpence-a-day 
weaver, and imparted by him to the green-horns 
around. What could not now be done in full, was 
imitated pretty well; and, if money was absent, 
device was ever near. Many curious expedients 
were weekly discovered, and as duly practised. 
To raise the wind-convivial; to keep it breezing, 
when raised, secured distinction and approval. 

Be the graceless details forgotten ! — I can only 
allude to these desperate and ingenious resources 
as answering the questions — " How could dissi- 
pation exist where wages barely afforded ordinary 
sustenance?" It was soothe weaver of forty 
shillings bequeathed his vices to the weaver of 
six shillings a week. The weaver of forty shil- 
lings had money instead of wit, the weaver of 
six shillings wit instead of money. During my 
experience of seventeen years within that factory 
the average earnings of first-rate hands, varying 
with the times, good and bad, were from six to 
nine shillings a week, second-rate workers from 
three to five shillings weekly. Some worked 



BECOLLECTIONS. 1 1 

weeks, — months, for nothing. — How? Thus it 
was. If, from whatever cause except sickness, a 
girl was absent, she was marked down and fined 
to the extent and in proportion to the time of 
her absence. For example, if any female worker 
came to the gate after seven in the morning, she 
was not permitted to enter, lost the morning's 
work, and was fined a sixpence. A few of these 
rejected ones — it was almost a daily thing — 
would stroll about, unwilling to face a scolding at 
home. They went not there. Some would, and 
return to work when the gate opened at nine. 
The grave will ask. Could not they all have done 
so likewise ? No, they, like yourselves, were some 
wise, and some weak. The question is an idle 
one, and worse than foolish, but you know you 
put it forth, and often. It were wiser work by far, 
and better, to clear away the stumbling blocks that 
beset the earlier paths of erring creatures rather 
than admire or grieve at the error. Give yourselves 
but the trouble to look for it, and you will find out 
a link or two precede crime. These you should cut. 
You may do it. The object chained, however wil- 
ling, has seldom the power. These poor girls are 
loitering — idle, wandering between a laugh and a 
tear — the most slippery standing of any. Ten to 
one if that day, or the next two days find the fair 
truants at their looms. For each day absent there 
comes a fine of one shilling, hence three days 
absence required three days of hard working to 



12 RECOLLECTIONS. 

clear scores with the " Company " for the follies 
of the week. This was not rare, but very common. 
Here was a Savings Bank truly inside out ! In- 
stead of wondering at the folly, rather ask how 
the fool subsisted in this work-for-nothing way? 
Where was her table spread? her fare what? and 
how looked her home? Condenm not, ye pros- 
perous, ye untempted happy! Bless your dear 
selves. Your pantry full, and your feet warm, 
Saturday night creeps through yon dreary garret 
where her mother sits eagerly in fancy making 
" ends meet," balancing her little debts with her 
Jeanie's earnings ! She knows not yet the truancy of 
yon morning — nor the fatal followings thereof— nor 
does she yet feel that the bread she devours is the 
price of her ruined lassie ! There is a beginning, 
and if in her young and yet unhardened breast 
there speaks a portion of womanly regret — it is 
laughed away by her merry shop-mates. Her 
doom on earth is fixed. 

Between three and four hundred male and female 
workers were promiscuously distributed over the 
work; the distinctive character of all sunk away. 
Man became less manly. Woman unlovely and 
rude. Many of these married, some pairs seemed 
happy, they were few and left the work whenever 
they could get webs and looms outside. Vacancies 
daily made, were daily filled — often by queer enough 
people, and from all parts, none too coarse for using. 
He who had never sought a better sight than an 



RECOLLECTIONS. 13 

unwatched pocket — he, trained to the loom six 
months in Bridewell, came forth a journeyman 
weaver, and lo ! his precious experiences were in- 
fused into the common moral puddle, and in due 
time did its work — became a fixture, — another pot 
of poison sunken in the common well, and drink 
they must. The poorest poor, the uneducated, the 
untrained poor, drank of it ; yet the wise and well 
provided will often condemn, without one pitying 
look, nor seek to see that strong link between crime 
and cause ! 

The garden of Gordon's Hospital lay close by our 
work, and was at the time open to all during every 
day. "There was quietness there, though encircled 
by noisy streets. There, of a summer day, we would 
meet — ^those of us who had a turn for reading — and 
gossip over all we knew of books and the outer 
world. Then came glimpses, — the only glimpses 
afibrded us of true, and natural, and rational exist- 
ence. Then would the shuttle rest for a time, and 
•^ a little time yet — a harder and a longer pull to- 
morrow will keep soul and body acquainted, and 
our 4 utmost does no more." With such coaxing 
philosophy, and the warm sun and the green, aye 
green garden about us, what wonder if there was 
lost in that day's labour the cloth of a striped shirt ? 
It was only a groat! The Wizard of Waverley 
had roused the world to wonders, and we wondered 
too. Byron was flinging around the terrible and 
beautiful of a distracted greatness. Moore wag 



'h 



14 RECOLLECTIONS. 

doing all he could for love-sick boys and girls, — 
yet they had never enough I Nearer and dearer to 
hearts like ours was the Ettrick Shepherd, then 
in his full tide of song and story ; but nearer and 
dearer still than he, or any living songster — ^to us 
dearer — was our ill-fated fellow-craftsman, Tanna- 
hill, who had just then taken himself from a neg- 
lecting world, while yet that world waxed mellow 
in his lay. Poor weaver chiel ! What we owe to 
thee ! Your " Braes o' Balquidder," and " Yon 
Burnside," and " Gloomy Winter," and the " Min- 
strel's " wailing ditty, and the noble " Gleneiflfer." 
Oh! how they did ring above the rattling of a 
hundred shuttles ! Let me again proclaim the debt 
we owe those Song Spirits, as they walked in 
melody from loom to loom, ministering to the 
low-hearted; and when the breast was filled with 
everything but hope and happiness, and aU but 
seared, let only break forth the healthy and vigo- 
rous chorus "A man's a man for a' that," the 
fagged weaver brightens up. His very shuttle 
skytes boldly along, and clatters through in faithful 
time to the tune of his merrier shopmates ! 

Who dare measure in doubt the restraining in- 
fluences of these very Songs ? To us they were 
all instead of sermons. Had one of us been bold 
enough to enter a church, he must have been ejected 
for the sake of decency. His forlorn and curiously 
patched habiliments would have contested the point 
of attraction with the ordinary eloquence of that 



AECOLLECTIONS. 16 

period. So for all parties it was better that he kept 
to his garret, or wandered far " in the deep green 
wood." Church bells rang not for us. Poets were 
indeed our Priests. But for those, the last relic of 
our moral existence would have surely passed away ! 
Song was the dew drops that gathered during the 
long dark night of despondency, and were sure to 
glitter in the very first blink of the sun. Yonder 
you might have seen " Auld Robin Gray" wet the 
eyes that could be tearless amidst cold and hunger, 
and weariness, and pain. Surely, surely then there 
was to that heart one passage yet unclosed ; and a 
way to carry something thither would save the 
dreary tenement. We had nothing to give but a 
kind look and a song. The soup-kitchen was open 
five months in two years. The dead were buried — 
now why will people always grumble ? To us Vir- 
tue, in whatever shape, came only in shadow, but 
even by that we saw her sweet proportions, and 
sometimes fain would have sought a kind acquaint- 
ance with her. Thinking that the better features of 
humanity could not be utterly defaced where song 
and melody were permitted to exist, and that where 
they were not all crushed, Hope and Mercy might 
yet bless the spot, some waxed bold, and for a time 
took leave of those who were called to " sing ayont 
the moon," groping amidst the material around 
and stringing it up, ventured on a home-made 
lilt. — Short was the search to find a newly kindled 
love, or some old heart abreaking. Such was aye 



16 RECOLLECTIONS. 

amongst us and not always unnoticed, nor, as ye 
shall see, unsung. 

It was not enough that we merely chaunted, and 
listened ; but some more ambitious, or idle if you 
will, they in time would try a self-conceived song. 
Just as if some funny little boy, bolder than the 
rest, would creep into the room where lay Neil 
Gow's fiddle, and touch a note or two he could not 
name. How proud he is ! how blest ! for he had 
made a sound, and more, his playmates heard it, 
faith! Here I will introduce one of these early 
touches, not for any merit of its own, but it will 
show that we could sometimes bear and even seek 
for our minds a short residence, though not elegant, 
at least sinless, — a fleeting visit of healthy things, 
th^mgh small they were in size and few in number. 
Spray from a gushing " linn, " if it slackened not 
the thirst, it cooled the brow. 

The following ditty had its foundation in one of 
those luckless doings which ever and aye follow 
misguided attachments ; and in our abode of free- 
dom these were almost the only kind of attachn»ents 
known ; so they were all on the wrong side of dura- 
bility or happiness. 



RECOLLECrriONS. 17 



Air — " Lii88y gin you lo*e me, tell me noo** 

We'll meet in yon wood, 'neath a starless sky, 
When wrestling leaves forsake ilk tree ; 

We mauna speak mair o' the days gane by, 
Nor o' friends that again we never maun see : 
Nae weak word o' mine shall remembrance gie 
O' vows that were made and were broken to me : 

m seem in my silence to reckon them dead, 

A' withered and lost as the leaves that we tread. 

Alane ye maun meet me, when midm'ght is near. 

By yon blighted auld bush that we fatally ken ; 
The voice that allured me, O ! let me nae hear. 

For my heart mauna beat to its music again. 

In darkness we'll meet, and in silence remain; 

Hk word now and look now, were mockfiil or vain; 
Ae mute moment mourn the dream that misled. 
Syne sinder as cauld as the leaves that we tread. 

This ditty was sung in the weaving shops, and 
when in the warbling of one who could lend a good 
voice to the occasion, and could coax the words and 
air into a sort of social understanding, then was it a 
song. 

I cannot remember the precise date of this me- 
lancholy creation. Sure enough some time about 



Ae, one 


Ken, hnow 


Nae, no 


Auld, old 


Mair, more 


Noo, now 


Gie, give 


Mauna, must not 


Sinder, separate 


Gin,(f 


Maun, may 


Syne, then 


Ilk, every 







18 RECOLLECTIONS. 

1826, when banks were falling like meteors, but 
rather oftener ; the world seemed hurrying to ruin. 
The very Sun on high lent a helping heat — kind- 
ling Mirrimachi. Cauld Caledonia lay baked and 
cracked — yielding Lilliputian crops — a parody on 
corn. Amidst all this, and more than all this, 
weavers would sing. The factory- distinguished 
writer of these verses, though at first indiflFerent, 
yet as they became more favoured by his shop- 
mates, and had actually been named without the 
gates, conceit gradually stole away his better judg- 
ment ; and at last one of his eyes — the weather eye 
— ^became firmly shut, while the other was immove- 
ably fixed on Parnassus. Why should his powers 
live and die in this black boundary? His song not 
be heard beyond the unpoetical brick walls of a 
factory ? It was settled. He is oflF. The shuttle 
for a time may go rot. No heed, no care of the 
hungry hours and hard weaving that must follow. 
There he goes, and over his beating heart lies a 
well-folded, fairly-copied version of his first-born, 
as he wends his way to the printing-office of the 
Aberdeen Joumah 

One special crony, and only one, was in con- 
fidence, and no mean sharer was he in the unutter- 
ably curious feeling that sets in on the first throes 
of authorship. Early on the morning of publication 
the anxious pair stood watchfully in a court that led 
to the printing-office. The Confidant was in that 
moderately troublesome state known as fidgets, with 



RECOLLECTIONS. 19 

now and then a qualm, inasmuch as having talked 
away two days' work, there was not withal to settle 
up matters in his boarding-house that night. The 
Principal^ although in the very same plight, felt not 
the very same way. His pain — for pain it was — 
had no connection with aught on earth, save and 
except the printing-office on which he gazed. Did 
his verses exist in print 9 

Woes on me ! Why don't they buy a paper ? 
Man after man, lad and elderly woman, passed 
each other with Journal at nose, heedless of all 
beside. 

" Ask that man for a peep." 
" Have not I besought it of twenty V* 
" Then let us try that chappie coming up." 
This was meant for a sulky little fellow, who 
refused flat to open his paper. Patience could do 
no more ; it becked* away, quite ; good manners 
and honesty followed. We were " left to ourselves." 
The obstinate journal bearer was borne into a house 
entry; we shut the door; and while he kicked 
and roared, we groped for the Poor Man's Comer 
in the Journal, and were blest — the song was 
there ! 

# # # # # 

Weaving, as year after year it dwindled, became 
at length an evendown waste of life — a mere per- 
mission to breathe. Sickened at the very sameness 

* Bowed. 



20 RECOLLECTIONS. 

in this mode of dying, I resolved to vary the 
method, and taste, by way of change. Sorrow further 
South. I found her grim Ladyship at last; but 
not until I had enjoyed nine years of such happi- 
ness as seldom visits man. 



REC0LLECTI0I4S. 21 



In the spring of 1837,* the failure of certain great 
commercial establishments in America, combining 
with other causes, silenced, in one week, upwards 
of six thousand looms in Dundee, and the various 
agencies in its connexion, and spread dismay through- 
out the whole county of Forfar, Amongst the many 
villages thus trade-stricken, none felt the blow more 
severely than that of Newtyle, near Cupar- Angus. 
This village was new, having sprung up since the 
completion of the Dundee Railway, a few years 
before. It consisted chiefly of weaving-shops and 
dwellings for the weavers. The inhabitants, about 
two hundred in number, were strangers to the place 
and to each other, having been recently collected 
from distant places by advertisements promising 
them many advantages, but which, when the evil 
day came, were little regarded. While employers 
were, some unwilling and many unable, to do any- 

• While in London (1841), I was introduced to Mr. Robert 
Chambers, of the Edinburgh Journal. In course of gossip, I 
related to him what led to the production of an ** Ode to my Flute." 
He liked the story, and, at his request, I wrote it. 



22 IIBCOLLECTIONS. 

thing for the relief of those whom they had brought 
together for their own purposes, the people of the 
neighbourhood, including those of the old village 
of Newtyle, regarded them with stem prejudice, as 
intruders " that naebody kent naething aboot." It 
were too much to say that they were positively per- 
secuted by their neighbours, but certainly they 
received no sympathy in their distresses from that 
quarter, much less any relief. 

A little while thinned the village, those only re- 
maining who had many children, and were obliged 
to consider well befpre they started. To these (and 
I was of the number) one web was supplied weekly, 
bringing five shillings. The weaver will know what 
sort of job the weaving of an "Osnaburg" was at 
that price. It had been a stiflF winter and unkindly 
spring, but it passed away, as other winters and 
springs must do. I will not expatiate on six human 
lives subsisting on five shillings weekly — on babies 
prematurely thoughtful— on comely faces withering 
— on desponding youth, and too quickly declining 
age. These things are perhaps too often talked of. 
Let me describe but one morning of modified star- 
vation at Newtyle, and then pass on. 

Imagine a cold spring forenoon. It is eleven 
o'clock, but our little dwelling shows none of the 
signs of that time of day. The four children are 
still asleep. There is a bed-cover hung before the 
window, to keep all within as much like night as 
possible ; and the mother sits beside the beds of her 



RECOLLECTIONS. 23 

children, to lull them back to sleep whenever any 
shows an inclination to awake. For this there is a 
cause, for our weekly five shillings have not come as 
expected, and the only food in the house consists of 
a handful of oatmeal saved from the supper of last 
night. Our fuel is also exhausted. My wife and I 
were conversing in sunken whispers about making 
an attempt to cook the handful of meal, when the 
youngest child awoke beyond its mother's power to 
hush it again to sleep, and then fell a whimpering, 
and finally broke out in a steady scream, rendering 
it impossible any longer to keep the rest in a state 
of unconsciousness. Face after face sprang up, each 
with one consent exclaiming, " Oh, mither, mither, 
gie me a piece ! " How weak a word is sorrow to 
apply to the feelings of myself and wife during the 
remainder of that dreary forenoon ! 

We thus lingered on during the spring, still hop- 
ing that things would come a little round, or that at 
least warmer weather would enable us, with more 
safety, to venture on a change of residence. At 
length, seeing that our strength was rapidly declin- 
ing, I resolved to wait no longer. Proceeding to 
Pundee, I there exchanged at a pawnbroker's, a 
last and most valued relic of better days, for ten 
shillings, four of which I spent on such little articles 
as usually constitute " a pack," designing this to be 
carried by my wife, while other four shillings I 
expended on second-hand books, as a stock of 
merchandize for myself; but I was very unfortu-* 



24 RECOLLECTIONS. 

nate in my selection, which conwsted chiefly of 
little volumes, containing abridgements of modern 
authors, these authors being little to the general 
taste of a rustic population. 

On a Thursday morning we forsook our melan- 
choly habitation, leaving in it my two looms and 
some furniture (for we thought of returning to it), 
and the key with the landlord. On the third day, 
Saturday, we passed through the village of Inch- 
ture, in the Carse of Gowrie, and proceeded towards 
Kinnaird. Sunset was followed by cold sour east 
winds and rain. The children becoming weary and 
fretful, we made frequent inquiries of other forlorn 
looking beings whom we met, to ascertain which 
farm-town in the vicinity was most likely to afford 
us quarters. Jean was sorely exhausted, bearing 
an infant constantly at her breast, and often carrying 
the youngest boy also, who had fairly broken down 
in the course of the day. It was nine o'clock when 
we approached the large and comfortable-looking 
steading of Balguay, standing about a quarter of a 
mile off the road. Leaving my poor flock on the way- 
side, I pushed down the path to the farm-house with con- 
siderable confidence, for I had been informed that Bal- 
guay (meaning, by this local appellation, the farmer) 
was a humane man, who never turned the wanderer 
from his door. Unfortunately for us, the worthy 
farmer, (Playfair,) was from home, and not expected 
to return that night. His housekeeper had admitted 
several poor people already, and could admit no 



RECOLLECTIONS. 25 

more. I pleaded with her the infancy of my family, 
the lateness of the night, and their utter unfitness 
to proceed — that we sought nothing but shelter — 
— that the meanest shed would be a blessing. Hea- 
ven's mercy was never more earnestly pleaded for 
than was a night's lodging by me on that occasion ; 
but " No, no, no," was the unvarying answer to all 
my entreaties. . 

I returned to my family ; they had crept closer 

together, and all, except the mother, were fast 
asleep. 

" Oh, Willie, Willie! what keepit ye?" inquired 
the trembling woman. " I'm dootfu' o' Jeanie,". she 
added ; " isna she waesome like ? Let 's in frae the 
cauld." 

" We've nae way to gang, lass," said I, " whate'er 
come o' us. Yon folk winna hae us." 

Few more words passed. I drew her mantle 
over the wet and chilled sleepers, and sat down 
beside them. My head throbbed with pain, and 
for a time became the tenement of thoughts I 
would not now reveal. They partook less of sor- 
row than of indignation, and it seemed to me that 
this same world was a thing very much to be 
hated ; and, on the whole, the sooner that one 
like me could get out of it, the better for its sake 
and my own. I felt myself, as it were, shut out 
from mankind — enclosed — prisoned in misery — no 
outlook — ^none ! My miserable wife and little ones, 
who alone cared for me — what would I not have 



26 RECOLLECTIONS. 

done for their sakes at that hour! Here let me 
9peak out — and be heard, too, while I tell it — Aat 
the world does not at all times know how unsafely 
it sits — when Despair has loosed Honour's last hold 
vpon the heart— T-when transcendent Wretchedness 
lays weeping Season in the dust — when every un- 
sympathizing onlooker is deemed an enemy — who 
THEN can limit the consequences? For my own 
part, I confess that, ever since that dreadful night, 
I can never hear of an extraordinary criminal, 
without the wish to pierce through the mere judi- 
cial view of his career, under which, I am per- 
suaded, there would often be found to exist an 
unseen impulse <— a chain, with one end fixed in 
Nature's holiest ground, that drew him on to his 
destiny. 

The gloamin' light was scarcely suflBcient to 
allow me to write a note, which I carried to a 
stately mansion hard by.* It was to entreat what 
we had been denied at Balguay. This applica- 
tion was also fruitless. The servant had been or- 
dered to take in no such notes, and he could not 
break through the rule. On rejoining my little 
group, my heart lightened at the presence of a 
serving-man, who at that moment came near, and 
who, observing our wretchedness, could not pass 
without endeavouring to succour us. The kind 

* Inohmartine ; but not at that time occupied by its proprietor 
JfiX* Allen, w^o w«9 then, and is still, a minor. 



RECOLLECTIONS. 27 

words of this worthy peasant* sunk deep into our 
hearts. I do not know his name ; but never can 
I forget him. Assisted by him, we arrived, about 
eleven o'clock, at the farm-house of John Cooper, 
West-town of Kinnaird, where we were immediately 
admitted. The accommodation, we were told, was 
poor ; but what an alternative from the storm- 
beaten wayside ! The servants were not yet in bed ; 
and we were permitted a short time to warm our- 
selves at the bothy fire. During this interval, the 
infant seemed to revive ; it fastened heartily to the 
breast, and soon fell asleep. We were next led 
to an out-house. A man stood by with a lantern, 
while, with straw and blankets, we made a pretty 
fair bed. In less than half an hour, the whole slept 
sweetly in their dark and almost roofless dormi- 
tory. 

I think it must have been between three and four 
o'clock when Jean wakened me. Oh, that scream ! 
-^I think I can hear it now. The other children, 
startled from sleep, joined in frightful wail over 
their dead sister. Our poor Jeanie had, unobserved 
by us, sunk during the night under the eflFects of 
the exposure of the preceding evening, following, as 
it did, a long course of hardship, too great to be 
borne by a young frame. Such a visitation could 
only be sustained by one hardened to misery and 

♦ Knockespock, and I have written twice to Mr. Cooper, to know 
his name, but never received an answer. 

c 2 



28 RECOLLECTIONS. 

wearied of existence. I sat a while and looked on 
them ; comfort I had none to give — none to take ; I 
spake not — what could be said — words ? Oh, no ! 
the worst is over when words can serve us. And 
yet it is not just when the wound is given that 
pain is felt. How comes it, I wonder, that minor 
evils will iaffect even to agony, while paramount 
sorrow overdoes itself, and stands in stultified calm- 
ness ? Strange to say, on first becoming aware of 
the bereavement of that terrible night, I sat for 
some minutes gazing upwards at the fluttering and 
wheeling movements of a party of swallows, our 
fellow-lodgers, which had been disturbed by our 
unearthly outcry. 

After a while, I proceeded to awaken the people 
in the house, who entered at once into our feelings, 
and did every thing which Christian kindness 
could dictate as proper to be done on the occasion. 
A numerous and respectable party of neighbours 
assembled that day to assist at the funeral. In 
an obscure corner of Kinnaird kirkyard lies our 
favourite, little Jeanie. 

Early on Monday, we resumed our heartless pil- 
grimage — wandering onwards, without any settled 
purpose or end. The busy, singing world above 
us was a nuisance ; and around, the loaded fields 
bore nothing for us — we were things apart. Nor 
knew we where that night our couch might be, or 
where, to-morrow, our grave. 'Tis but fair to say, 
however, that our children never were ill-off during 



HECOLLECTIONS. 29 

the day-time. Where our goods were not bought, 
we were, nevertheless, offered " a piece to the 
baimies." One thing which might contribute to 
this was, that our appearance, as yet, was re- 
spectable, and it seemed as if the people saw in 
us neither the shrewd hawker nor the habitual 
mendicant, so that we were better supplied with 
£[>od than had been our lot for many a month 
before. 

But oh, the ever-recurring sunset ! Then came 
the hour of sad conjecturing and sorrowful out- 
look. To seek lodging at a farm before sunset, 
was to insure refusal. After nightfall, the children, 
worn out with the day's wanderings, turned fret- 
ful, and slept whenever we sat down. After ex- 
.perience taught us cunning in this, as in other 
things — ^the tactics of habitual vagrants being to 
remain in concealment near a farm of good name, 
until a suitable lateness warranted the attack. This 
night, however, we felt so much in need of a com- 
fortable resting-place, that it was agreed we should 
make for Errol, There we settled for the night at 
a house kept for the humblest description of " tra- 
rellers.^' It is one of those places of entertainment 
whose most engaging feature is the easy price. Its 
inmates, unaccustomed even to the luxury of a fire, 
easily enough dispense with seats ; and where five 
or six people are packed up alive in one box, a 
superabundance of bed-clothes would be found un- 
comfortable. Hence the easy charges. Our fellow- 



30 RECOLLECTIONS. 

lodgers were of all nations, to the amount of two 
dozen or so. 

As it has been my lot, since then, to pass 
many a night and day in similar society, and, 
having somewhat of a turn for observation, my 
memory could furnish many records of " gangrel 
bodies," that are not altogether wanting in interest ; 
but of that another time. One case, however, has, 
in some points, so much of resemblance to my own, 
at one period, that I would fain notice it here. At 
the gloamin' hour, we entered the village of Errol 
in the Carse of Gowrie. In the main street, a group 
of people had gathered round a man, and stood 
silent and attentive, as if expecting some display or 
another. I wondered, for a moment, whether the 
man was a preacher, and at a dead stop for material. 
The grave and benevolent expression on his comely 
face, as well as the dark hue of his apparel, misled 
me so far ; and for the rest, the bewilderment of his 
look certainly intimated that, whatever the employ- 
ment, his lips had ^' closed for the season." It was 
not so. I knew it all afterwards. He had been 
just then singing — ^for the first time, singing in the 
streets. I heard his song. Surely, surely, thought 
I, it comes from his very heart ; such earnestness, 
such sorrowful sweetness ! Misery makes niggards 
of us, and at times sympathies will actually become 
self-consumed ; yet the man and his " Light of 
other days," haunted my fancy, even to my motiey 
lodgings— -my caravansarie — ^my bield of meal-bags 



RSCOLLBCTtOKS. 31 

and monsters. Here, aside from the Coarse and 
bloated inmates of our dwelling, a respectable-look- 
ing woman sat nursing a sick infant — a poor, 
withered, corpse-like baby, with little of life there 
but the wailing, wailing, that would not be stilled. 
One or two of our neighbours seemed to sympathize 
with the young and lonely mother; others grumbled 
harshly to want their sleep. By-and-by, another 
lodger entered. It was the man — the very singing- 
man — I heard in the gloamin'. In a moment he 
was in our group, leaning over his djring infant ! 
Now, just think of singing, and that the key-note : 
I will not bother you with remarks. 

" I have wearied sadly for your coming, James," 
said the woman. 

** It 's so dark out bye the nicht," he replied, " I 
only &und out this door by ottr wean greetin*. " 

Many a time, since that sad night, have I seen 
him and his interesting family snug and happy at 
their own hearth. A feeling unknown to the many, 
sprung up between us — it endures for life — like that 
of creatures who had met in a desert. Fain would 
I at this moment introduce his story, for it is a sad 
One — his name, his sufferings, and his amiabilities. 
But no; there are minds anew in the world little 
enough, cruel enough, to remind him, as they hav^ 
me, of the desolate day that was never chosen ; and 
envy suflBlcient to blot his prosperity— to find invidi- 
ous causes for his calamity — for sorrows and circum- 



32 RECOLLECTIONS. 

stances that no man would seek. With minds like 
these, to be once down is never to look up again — 
once humbled, nothing after is sufficiently low. 
His infant died ere he left that lodging-house. In 
justice to silent sufferers, as well as to the unwary 
benevolent, it is well to mention here a cast of im- 
posture carried on by the thoroughbred, never-give- 
up, " all right " class of beggarhood. In common 
tramp-houses, wherein this class mostly harbour, a 
death is, in a double sense, a godsend — such, indeed, 
is to them a gracious notice, even when it comes in 
a ^^fair strae"^ kind of way. But if the decease has 
aught about it of the extraordinary, so as to attract 
local sympathy, out of that comes a true Christmas. 
Every crutch is on end — every bag hoisted — every 
face stretched to the nonce, and these things spread 
to every point, each wailing the loss of child, mother, 
brother, sister, or wife — or all together, rather than 
not melt. This and shipwrecks form a kind of 
staple in the commonwealth of Gaherlunzie. 

Leaving Errol next day, we passed up the Carse 
to Perth, were kept there a few days by some old 
acquaintances, started from thence towards Meth- 
ven, sold little on the way thither, but were kindly 
treated by the workers at Huntingtower and Crom- 
well Park. The people there were themselves on 
limited work — indeed, many of them had none ; yet 
they shared their little substance with those that 

* Not by foul means. 



RECOLLECTIONS. 33 

had less. It is always so ; but for the poor, the 
poorer would perish. 

Just before entering Methven, I sold a small book 
to a person breaking stones for the road. After 
some conversation, I discovered he was musical, and 
was strongly tempted to sell him my flute. He had 
taken a fancy to it, and offered a good price. I re- 
sisted ; it had long been my companion, and some- 
times my solace ; and indeed, to speak truth* I had, 
for some days past, attended to certain "fiarlorn 
hope" whisperings, implying the possible necessity 
of using that instrument in a way more to be la- 
mented than admired. The sum total of my earthly 
moneys was fivepence-halfpenny, which my little 
volume had seduced from the pocket of the musical 
lapidary. With this treasure, we sat by the fireside 
of Mrs. L.'s lodging-house in Methven. The good 
woman gave us to understand that our entertain- 
ment would cost sixpence, at the same time decla- 
ring it to be a standing rule in her establishment to 
see payment made of all such matters before the 
parties " took aff their shoon." I only wondered, 
when I looked round on the bare feet that luxuriated 
about her hearth, how she contrived to put this test 
into execution. The demand for our lodging-money 
was decided, and so was I. I took my woe-worn 
partner aside, whispered her to pick my flute from 
out our " budgets," put on her mantle, and follow 
pae. As we went along, I disclosed my purpose of 

c 6 



34 RECOLLECTIONS. 

playing in the outskirts of tlie village. This was a 
new line of action, not to be taken without som0 
qualms. But then the landlady ! Besides, nobler 
natures, and higher names than I could ever aim at, 
had betaken themselves to similar means. Homer 
had sung his epics for a morsel of bread; Gold- 
smith had piped his way over half the Continent. 
These were precedents indeed ! Moreover, neither 
of these worthies had children in Methven or else- 
where, that ever I heard of. Nor is it recorded in 
the history of those great men, whether they had at 
any time been under the compulsion of a landlady 
who attached a special consequence to the moment 
that undid the shoe-tie. 

Musing over these and many other considera- 
tions, we found ourselves in a beautiful green lane, 
fairly out of the town, and opposite a genteel-look- 
ing house, at the windows of which sat several well- 
dressed people. I think that it might be our bewil- 
dered and hesitating movements that attracted their 
notice — perhaps not favourably. 

" A quarter of an hour longer," said I, " and it 
will be darker ; let us walk out a bit." 

The sun had been down a good while, and 
the gloamin' was lovely. In spite of everything, 
I felt a momentary reprieve. I dipped my dry 
flute in a little burn, and began to play. It 
rang sweetly amongst the trees. I moved on and 
on, still playing, and still facing the town. " The 
flowers of the forest" brought me before the house 



BBOOLLBOTlOKflL 3^ 

lately mentioned. My music raised one window 
after another^ and in leds than ten minutes put me 
in possession of 3*. 9d. of good British money* I 
sent the mother home with this treasure, and di- 
rected her to send our little girl to me. It was by 
this time nearly dark. Every one says, " Things 
just need a beginning." I have had a beginning, 
and a very good one too. I had also a turn for 
strathspeys, and there appeared to be a run upon 
them. By this time I was nearing the middle of 
the town. When I finally made my way, and re- 
tired to my lodging, it was with five shillings and 
some pence, in addition to what was given us. My 
little girl got a beautiful shawl, and some articles 
of wearing apparel. 

Shall I not bless the good folk of Methven ? Let 
me ever chance to meet a Methven weaver in dis- 
tress, and I will share my last bannock with him. 
These men — ^for I knew them, as they knew me, by 
instinct — these men not only helped me themselves, 
but testified their gratitude to every one that did so. 
There was enough to encourage further perseve- 
rance; but I felt, after all, that I had begun too 
late in life ever to acquire that ^^ease and grace" 
indispensable to him who would successfully '^ carry 
the gaberlunzie onJ* I felt I must forego it, at 
least in a downright street capacity. 

After some consideration, another mode of exer- 
cising my talents for support occurred to me. I had, 
ever since I remember, an irrepressible tendency to 



36 RECOLLECTIONS. 

make verses, and many of these had won applause 
from my friends and fellow-workmen, so I deter- 
mined to press this faculty into my service on the 
present occasion. Accordingly, after sundry down- 
sittings and contemplations, by waysides and in 
barns, my Muse produced the following ode 

TO MY FLUTE. 

It's nae to harp, to lyre, nor lute, j 

I ettle now to sing ; 
To thee alane, my lonesome flute, 

This bamely strain I bring ! 
Oh ! let us flee on memory's wing, 

O'er twice ten winters flee. 
An* try ance mair that ae sweet spring 

Wlulk young love breathed in thee. 

Companion o' my happy then, 

Wi' smilin' frien's around ; 
In ilka but, in ilka ben,* 

A couthie, welcome found — 
Ere yet thy master proved the wound 

That ne'er gaed scaithless by ; 
That gi'es to flutes their saftest sound, 

To hearts their saddest sigh. 

Since then, my bairns hae danced to thee. 

To thee my Jean has sung ; 
And monie a nicht, wi' gmltless glee, 

Our hearty hallan rung. 

Baims, children, Hallan, roof tree, Lo'esome, beloved. 

Couthie, kindly. Ilka, every. Spring, tune, 

Ettle, attempt, 

• The but is the parlour, the ben the kitchen end of every Scotch 
borne. 



RECOLLECTIONS. 37 

But noo, wi* hardship worn and stung, 

m roam the warld about ; 
For her and for our friendless young, 

Come forth, my faithful flute ! 

Your artless notes may win the ear 

That wadna hear me speak ; 
And for your sake that pity spare, 

My ftill heart couldna seek. 
And whan the winter^s cranreuch bleak 

Drives houseless bodies in, 
We'll ablins get the ingle-cheek, 

A' for your lichtsome din. 

This I designed to be printed on fine paper, with 
a fly-leaf attached, and folded in the style of a note, 
to be presented to none under a footman, by a 
decently-dressed, modest-looking man (myself, of 
course), who, after waiting ten minutes, the time 
wanted to utter the " Oh, la's ! " and " Who may 
he be's?" would, I expected, be asked into the 
drawing-room, where the admiring circle should be 
rayished with his sweet-toned minstrelsy. After 
compliments sufficient for any mere man, this person 
I supposed to retire with that in his pocket that 
could not rightly be expended without a great deal 
of prudent consideration. Such was my dream. I 
accordingly proceeded to act as I had designed. 
With a few copies of my poem, I set out once more 
upon my travels, and, to do justice to the scheme, it 

Aiblins, perhaps. Ingle cheek, chimney Lichtsome, merry 

Cranreuch, piercing comer. noise, 

wind. 



38 RECOLLECTIONS. 

was, on several occasions, successful to the extent 
anticipated. In one laird's house I received a guerdon 
of half a guinea ; but, after all, it was but beggar's 
work, and my soul in time grew sick of it. It was 
with no sighings after flesh-pots that, in a few weeks, 
on times becoming a little better, I settled down once 
more to my loom. 



RECOLLECTIONS. 39 



Weaving about a year in Aberdeen, I accidentally 
obtained a job from a customary'''' weaver in the Ga- 
rioch, a district bordering on Mar and Strathbogie, 
in Aberdeenshire. This proving far more profitable 
than factory work, induced me to remove my family 
from Aberdeen to Inverury, a place centrical and 
convenient to the call of employers in the customary 
line. Nine months after our settlement here, she 
died — ^Jean — the mother of my family — partner of 
my wanderings — ^the unmurmuring sharer in all my 
difficulties, left us — left us, too, just as the last cold 
cloud was passing, ere the outbreak of a brighter 
day. That cloud passed, but the warmth that fol- 
lowed lost half its value to me, she being no par- 
taker therein. 

In January, 1841, precisely one year after having 
taken residence at Inverury, my better star had, all 
unknown to me, determined to take a turn on the 
upward way. Customary work almost ceases here 
at this season, and remains dull for several months. 
I had been unemployed thus for two weeks. To 

* HouMhold. 



40 BECOLLECTIONS. 

lull the weariness, and make away with very tedious 
hours, I composed small poems on subjects that 
pleased me. This I did, without a glance beyond 
the selfish pleasure one finds in shaping out a fixed 
and tangible abode to feelings and fancies dear to 
the memory. One of these compositions I sent to 
the Aberdeen Herald^ and three weeks after it appeared 
anonymously in that paper, ushered by a notice of 
sympathy from the editor, Mr. Adam, to whom I 
was then entirely unknown. This poem. No. 1 of 
The Blind Boys Pranks, was copied into most 
newspapers in the kingdom. With a rather full 
average of human vanity in my disposition, all this, 
at another time, would have been pleasing enough ; 
but as it was, the first gleam of public favour had 
not power to withdraw my mind from what was 
before me, nor to brighten the dreary outlook. 

On a cold, cold winter day of February, we sat 
alone, my little ones and I, looking on the last meal 
procurable by honourable means. My purpose Was 
settled — our wearables, such as they were, lay packed 
up for the journey — ^Aberdeen and the House of 
Refuge our next home. I felt resigned. True, we 
might have breathed on a little while longer, had I 
been able to worm through all the creeping intrica- 
cies that lie between starvation and parish charities. 
But, oh ! how preferable, surely, the unseen, silent 
sadness in a House of Refuge to the thousand and 
one heartless queries, taunts, and grumblings, that 
accompany the Elder's " eighteenpence." Heaven 



BECOLLECTIONS. . 41 

averted all these, at any rate. On the forenoon of 
that same day, there came a post letter, dated 
Aberdeen Journal Office. The nature of that letter 
will be sufficiently understood by the following ex- 
tract from that paper : — 

" The beautiful verses entitled The Blind Boy's 
JPranksy the production of a " Serf,"* which ap- 
peared in our paper of the 20th January [copied 
from the Herald^ where it jftrst appeared], are, we 
doubt not, fresh in the memory of many of our 
readers. It will delight them to learn that the 
humble yet gifted author has not passed unnoticed 
or unrewarded. We have had the pleasure of con- 
yeying to him, from a gentleman of this county, 
(the friend of native genius,) a very substantial 
token of his admiration ; and make no apology for 
submitting to our readers the simple tale of thanks 
vnth which it has been received. The genuine 
spirit of poetry pervades The Blind Boyh Pranks ; 
and is no less conspicuous in the lines which follow. 
They cannot fail to create an interest in the welfare 
of the hard-working and talented " Serf;" — 

" Inverury, Feb. 7, 1841. 

" Dear Sir, — I have this hour received your 
kind letter, enclosing another, with five pounds, 
frdm Knockespock. Unaccustomed— utterly un- 
accustomed as I have been to such correspondents, 

♦ The signature originally appended to the verses. 



42 RECOLLECTIONS. 

and with such accompaniments, what shall I say ? 
Nothing now— indeed, I cannot ; neither can I de- 
lay this acknowledgment — ^but after hours will 
speak my gratitude. That gentleman shall hear 
from me soon. Meantime, I subjoin a little thing* 
that happened to be in the ' loom ' when yours came 
to hand. You are fairly entitled to the freshest of 
my homely productions. Through your hand, for 
the first time in my life, has my rhyming brought 
me aught beyond 'fusionless' praise — indeed, be- 
yond that, I have never hoped nor wished; but 
now that, through the munificence of Knockespock, 
my physical struggle is slackened, I foresee that 
my pursuits (mentally) may be less fettered and 
have a wider range. Oh ! sir, it is difficult for those 
in other circumstances to think what a strife is his 
who has to battle lip-deep in poverty, with a 
motherless family and a poetical temperament I The 
last item the worst— inasmuch as it enhances ten-* 
fold the pain that is frequent^ and the joy that is 
rare. Let sincerity atone for the want of elegance 
in, " Dear Sir, 

" Your grateful and obliged 

" W. Thom." 



" To D. Chalmers, Esq,, Aberdeen, 
Editor of the Journal.^* 

I wrote my thanks to Knockespock, as follows : — 

• " Oh, Mary! when ye thmk of me." 



RECOLLECTIONS. 43 



WILLIAM THOM TO K. 

" Inverury, March 30th, 1841. 

" Honoured Sir, — I fear that I have too long 
delayed the performance of a duty, which, though 
not acted, has never for an hour forsaken my 
thoughts. Had I been schooled in the language 
of thanksgiving I would ere now have directly 
acknowledged my gratitude, but I knew not how 
to express the fulness of my heart, and at the same 
time spare the delicacy of my benefactor. It was 
just last night I thought, after all, the plain way 
was the best — so I will tell you how matters stood, 
and how they stand, and leave you to shape out 
conclusions. 

" That day your letter reached me, I and my 
family had looked on the last meaJ procurable by 
honourable means. I had not only resolved, but was 
actually * packing up ' for Aberdeen, and the House 
of Hefuge — for you will know that I had not been 
in this parish* long enough to entitle me to its 
assistance. Indeed, had it been otherwise, I should 
have preferred the unseen sadness of the ' House ' 
to the thousand and one heartless queries of the 
beadle. There were yet eight or ten weeks to pass 
ere the season of ' Customary' Weaving (to which 

* It requires an industrial residence of three years in Scotland 
before persons become chargeable. 



44 RECOLLECTIONS. 

alone I was bred) could commence. I might have 
breathed through that space by supplication, etc., 
but the Lord averted — and when your kindness 
was known it was universally admitted to be a 
' Heaven-inspired act.' Had you beheld the wild 
glee of my boys ! had you seen the tears of their 
pretty sister that day! Oh! sir, to a kind heart 
there was praise indeed, sweeter than sycophant e'er 
uttered, or poet sung ! Well, well, from that hour 
to this we have never known want. The fuss that 
followed No. 1 of The Pranks^ in connection with 
Knockespock's notice, at once flattered my self-love 
and filled my ^cog'* Cheerfully do I now push on — 
a little bit of weaving, not so bitterly adhered to, as 
has been, and now and then a job musical^ for you 
must know my celebrity divides between poet and 
flute-player — and being attached to a local band, 
we occasionally get employed in these districts. 
There is a good deal of my time spent in the adjust- 
ment of my womanless household, my lassie being 
yet only ten — but I snatch every disposable hour, 
and am industrious towards the creation of my 
book, which I think may be in its calf-skin jacket 
by the end of harvest. Will you, my dear sir, accept 
the dedication? Oh do not deny me that bright 
opportunity to at once tell the world my gratitude, 
and to whose timely interference is due the exist- 
ence of my simple lays. A thousand to one if ever 

• A dish. 



RECOLLECTIONS. 45 

Jfo. 2 of The Blind Boy would have seen the light, 
but for the good fortune of its predecessor. 

" I am, honoured Sir, 
" All you would wish a poor man to be, 
" Your servant, 

" William Thom." 

Soon after Mr. Gordon sent a letter containing 
many inquiries concerning my situation and pros- 
pects. My reply may be acceptable at this point 
of the story, as it embodies the pith of his letter, 
and exhibits that kind of family statistics which his 
amiable nature seeks out, in every instance to help 
and to heal. It would fill a volume what I have 
witnessed of that gentleman's benevolent doings, 
and of the delight he enjoys in the happiness of a 
fellow-creature ; but let me speak now only of the 
instance at hand. After chastising myself for not 
attending more promptly to his very first commu- 
nication, my reply to his second runs thus : — 

" As to the long silence that ensued, I must recur 
to my former plea — namely, my inability to express 
my own feelings, with a certainty all the while, that 
I did not trespass on those of my benefactor. 
Again I sincerely ask pardon ; and let this farther 
consideration plead for me, that my lowly breeding 
has hid from me those nice and proper distinctions 
recognised by people of education and superior 
training — even now^ I know not, thus speaking, 



46 BECOLLECTIONS. 

how far I may commit myself, and I beg leare to 
proceed to the queries as they stand in your letter, 
replying to all in single-hearted sincerity. 

" * What was you bred to f Born in Aberdeen, the son 
of a widow unable to keep me at home idle, 1 was, 
when ten years of age, placed in a public factory, where 
I served an apprenticeship of four years, at the end 
of which I entered another great weaving establish- 
ment, * Gordon, Barron, and Co.,' where I con- 
tinued seventeen years. During my apprenticeship 
I had picked up a little reading and writing. After- 
wards set about studying Latin — went so far, but 
was fairly defeated through want of time, &c. — 
having the while to support my mother, who was 
getting frail. However, I continued to gather 
something of arithmetic and music, both of which I 
have mastered so far as to render further progress 
easy did I see it requisite. I play the German flute 
tolerably in general subjects, but in my native me- 
lodies, lively or pathetic, to feto will I lay it down. 
I have every Scotch song that is worth singing; 
and though my vocal capability is somewhat limited, 
I can convey a pretty fair idea of what a Scotch 
song ought to be. 

" So much for * acquirements.^ You next ask my 
* age and state of health f* I am forty-two — my 
health not robust but evenly ; a lameness of one 
leg, occasioned by my being, when in infancy, 
crushed under the wheel of a carriage. This unfits 
me for work requiring extra personal strength ; and 



BECOLLECTIONS. 47 

indeed it is mostly owing to little mechanical ap- 
pliances of my own contriving, that I am enabled 
to subject the more laborious parts of my calling to 
the limits of my very stinted bodily power. 

"* The number and age of my family f Three — 
Elizabeth, aged ten and a half years, William eight, 
and James five. 

" My wife died in childbed, last November ;, my 
girl does the best she can by way of housekeeper ; 
the boys are at school. I cannot spare the lassie, so 
she gets a lesson at home. 

" ^Description of my dwelling^' — I occupy two trim 
little garrets in a house belonging to Sir Robert 
Elphinstone, lately built on the market stance of 
Inverury. We have everything required in our 
humble way ; perhaps our blankets pressed a little 
too lightly during the late severe winter, but then 
we crept closer together — that is gone — 'tis summer 
now, and we are hopeful that next winter will bring 
better things. 

" * Means of Living' — employed seven or eight 
months yearly in customary weaving — that is, a 
country weaver who wants a journeyman sends 
for me. I assist in making bedding, shirting, and 
other household stuffs. When his customers are 
served, I am discharged, and so ends the season. 
During that time I earn from ten to twelve shillings 
a week ; pay the master generally four shillings for 
my * keep,' and remit the rest to my family. In 
this way, we moved on happy enough. Ambition, 



48 RECOLLECTIONS. 

or something like it, would now and then whisper 
me into discontent. But now, how blest would I 
deem myself had I my beloved partner again, and 
the same difficulties to retrace. I eke out the blank 
portions of the season by going into a factory. 
Here the young and vigorous only can exceed six 
shillings weekly. This alone is my period of priva- 
tion; however, it is wonderful how nicely we get 
on. A little job now and then, in the musical way, 
puts all right again. I don't drink, as little at any 
rate as possible. I have been vain enough to set 
some value on my mind, and it being all that I pos- 
sess now, and the only thing likely to put me in 
possession of aught afterwards, I would not wil- 
lingly drown it. 

^^ ^ My Books — I have few of my own — pick 
up a loan where it can be had: so of course 
my reading is without choice or system. Your 
question with regard to * Religion — I believe 
in God, and in Christ the Saviour of mankind. — 
* What do Hook forward to in life?* Lately I looked 
to nothing but increasing labour and decreasing 
strength — interminable toil and ultimate starvation 
— such is the fate of nine-tenths of my brethren — 
but now daylight breaks on my destiny. Since you 
wrote me, my verses have attracted the notice of 
several literary gentlemen in Edinburgh, who have 
tendered friendship to me, and are to use their 
influence in my behalf in the event of my publish- 
ing. Mr. M., of the Weekly Chronicle^ has fre- 



RECOLLECTIONS. 49 

qaently mentioned me in kindness.* Hence I 
dream of making my ' escape' from the loom ; and 
of being enabled to pull my little ones out from 
amongst 'folk's feet.' I fully appreciate your 
friendly counsel regarding premature publication, 
and shall attend to it ; also to the selection of sub- 
jects, but I would not be diverted from my original 
purpose anent the dedication to you. God knows, 
I have been taught the value of a shilling, but have 
never yet stooped to an unbecoming action to ob- 
tain one ; and although they were in my neighbour- 
hood (as I don't know if they are) that would better 
mef — yet, sir, permit me to abide by my first 
notion. 

" I had nearly forgot that you ask me whether I 
possess * Good common sense as well as poetical abi- 
Utyf Well, really, sir, I cannot say: most people 
erect their own standard in that matter, and geno- 

• Literature, when pursued as a profession, confers dignity on it- 
votary ; but when, as in the case of the amiable and gifted Thom 
of Inverury, Aberdeenshire, and many others of his class similarly 
situated, it is resorted to amid the little relaxation which a laboriout^ 
profession allows, we confess we reverence that man who can thus 
vindicate the superiority of mind over matter. Many are content to 
eat, to sleep, and do a little work again ; the day-spring conveys to 
such minds no other feeling than that they must rise and work ; and 
the evening closes around them and glads their dull faculties with 
only the visions of a supper and a bed. This is the animal, the vege- 
table life which but too many live, to the utter abasement of intellect 
and elevated feeling." — Edinburgh Weekly Chronicle f Feb. 1841. 

t Knockespock had suggested to me that there might be others 
to whom I might dedicate more advantageously than to him. 

D 



50 BECOLLECTIOJNS. 

rally award to themselves a pretty fair share ; and 
few are found grumbling with the distribution. I 
have looked as closely as my degree permitted, 
upon man, his ways and his wishes, and I have 
tasted in my own experience some of life's bitterest 
tastings ; hence I have obtained some shrewd 
glimpses of what calls common sense into action, 
and what follows the action wherein common sense 
has no share. 

" You speak of ' respectable references : ' Dr. 
Thomson here has known me these two years, 
being the amount of my residence in this place; 
Mr. M'Naughtan, manager to Gordon, Barron, & 
Co., Aberdeen. To these I can refer, and if they 
do not call me a good, I dare them to call me a bad 
man. By the way, I have never sought to culti- 
vate an acquaintance amongst those not in my 
immediate degree, and am little known : my hands 
recommended me to my employers, and beyond 
that I seldom thought.* I am, &c., &c., 

" William Thom." 

I received another note from Knockespock, the 
tenor of which may be best gathered from my reply 
which follows. 



* Let it be remembered that these questions were put to the Poet, 
from no idle curiosity or intolerance, but to ascertain if the situation 
of a Schoolmaster would suit him. 

J. A. G. 



RECOLLECTIONS. 51 

"Aberdeen, April 29, 1841. 
" Honoured Sir, — Your letter, with its enclosure, 
reached me on the 27th. I immediately set about 
the arrangements pointed out to me, so my lassie 
and I are thus far on the way to London, very 
much delighted with every thing and every body, 
the world and all therein lovelier than before, just 
because toe are happy, — " thereby hangs a tale." I 
could philosophize, and speak of the unseen sym- 
pathies that exist between the breeches pocket and 
Nature's " lovely green." Well, we left our little 
kinsfolks. Will and Jamie, very ill at heart, and I 
thought never to have got Betsy and William 
parted : indeed, sir, I once thought of fetching him 
along. I am content to know that they will be 
well looked to. I procured a careful and decent 
female to keep house, and laid in sufficiency for two 
months' comfort. There is something in your 
doings in regard of me that has struck every body 
in this quarter. There is in it so much of what 
might be termed the romance of reality. Do you 
remember how matters stood with me when I got 
your first letter? Well, I was, when this one 
came, on my way to Pitmachie to resume my toils of 
the ^^ season;" aye, sir, and very very thankful 
indeed for the "chance of getting employment." 
I cannot " prepare " to write, therefore it is to be 
hoped you will excuse my " off-loof " way. 

" Your most obedient and humble servant, 

" W. Thom." 
d2 



62 BECOLLECTIOKS. 

Ten days after, I and little Betsy were dashing 
along in a handsome carriage through the streets 
of London. Here was a change sufficient to turn 
the head of a bewildered weaver. Under the roof of 
my kind friends Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, I remained 
upwards of four months, and paid great attention to 
all I saw and heard. I was introduced to many of 
the master minds of yon great city. In the studio 
of Sir Francis Chantrey, I conversed with the la- 
mented Allan Cunningham. I have listened to 
the eloquence, and heard the nonsense of those who 
give laws to the people. I saw Majesty and Misery, 
and many of the paths between. Many a pleasure 
was put within my power ; and many are the delights 
of happy England, and kind the hearts therein; 
yet. I longed for Scotland, and am again upon my 
heather, and at my loom. Alas ! for the loom, 
though ! Hitherto it has been to me the ship on 
which I voyaged o'er life -Happiness and Hardship 
alternate steersmen — the Lyre and a light heart my 
fellow-passengers. Now, amid the giant waves of 
monopoly, the solitary loom is fast sinking. Thus 
must the Lyre, like a hencoop, be thrown on the 
wrecking waters, to float its owner ashore. 



53 



KHYMES. 



THE BLIND BOTS PRANKS. 

[" The following beautiful Stanzas are by a correspondent, 
who subscribes himself ^A Ser/j and declares that he has to 
weave fourteen hours out of the four 'and- twenti/. We trust his 
daify toil will soon be abridged, that he may have more leisure 
to devote to an art in which he shows so much natural genius' 
and cultivated taste." — Aberdeen Herald^ Feb. 1841.] 

" I 'U tell some ither time, quo' he, 
How we love an' laugh in the north countrie." 

Legend. 

Men grew sae cauld, maids sae unkind, 

Love kentna whaur to stay. 
Wi' fient an arrow, bow, or string, — 
Wi' droopin' heart an' drizzled wing. 

He faught his lanely way. 



Cauld, cold, Ither, other. Sae, so. 

Faught, battled. Kentna, knew not. Whaur, where. 

Fient, deuce. Lanely, lonely. 



54 THE BLIND BOy's PRANKS. 

" Is there nae mair, in Garioch fair, 

Ae spotless hame for me ? 
Hae politics, an' com, an' kye, 
Ilk bosom stappit ? Fie, O fie ! 

I'll swithe me o'er the sea." 

He launched a leaf o' jessamine, 

On whilk he daured to swim. 
An' pillowed his head on a wee rosebud, 
Syne laithfu', lanely, Love 'gan scud 

Down Ury's * waefii' stream. 

The birds sang bonnie as Love drew near. 

But dowie when he gaed by ; 
Till luU'd wi' the sough o' monie a sang. 
He sleepit fu' soun' and sailed alang 

'Neath Heav'n's gowden sky ! 

'Twas just whaur creeping Ury greets 

Its mountain cousin Don, 
There wandered forth a weelfaur'd deme, 

Wha listless gazed on the bonnie stream. 
As it flirted an' played with a sunny beam 

That flickered its bosom upon. 

Ae, one, Kye, cattle, Stappit, crammed. 

Deme, dame. Laithfu', reluctant, Swithe, hasten, 

Dowie, sorrowfully, Mair, mxyre. Syne, then, 

Fu' 9o\xii\full sound, Monie, many, Waefu', woeful, [oured 

Hae, have, Nae, no, Weelfaur'd, well fav' 

Hame, home. Sough, sound. Whaur, where. 

* The Ury, a small stream, at the junction of which with the Don 
stands Inver-Ury. 



THB BLIND BOY's PBAKK8. 55 

Love happit his head, I trow, that time, 

The jessamine bark drew nigh. 
The lassie espied the wee rosebud. 
An' aye her heart gae thud for thud. 

An' quiet it wadna lie. 

" O gin I but had yon wearie wee flower 
That floats on the Ury sae fair !" 
She lootit her hand for the silly rose-leaf. 
But little wist she o' the pawkie thief, 
Was lurkin' an' laughin' there ! 

Love glower'd when he saw her bonnie dark e'e, 

An' swore by Heaven's grace 
He ne'er had seen, nor thought to see. 
Since e'er he left the Paphian lea,* 

Sae lovely a dwallin' place ! 



E'e, eye* Happit, covered, Wadna, would not, 

Gae thud for thud, ^ave IjooXiiy put down. Weaxlet troublesome, 

beat for beat, Pawkie, sly. Wee, little, 

Qlower'd, gazed wildly 



• ** Paphos, a very ancient city of Cyprus. It was celebrated for 
its beautiful temple of Venus, built on the spot where she landed 
when she rose from the sea. There were one hundred altars in her 
temple, which smoked daily, with a profusion of frankincense, and 
though exposed to the open air, they were never wetted by rain. 
Annual festivals were held here in honour of the goddess, and her 
oracle, which was connected with the temple, acquired for it consi- 
derable reputation." 



56 THE BLIND BOy's PRANKS. 

Syne, first of a', in her biythesome breast, 

He built a bower, I ween ; 
An' what did the waefu' devilick neist ? 
But kindled a gleam like the rosy east. 

That sparkled frae baith her een. 

An' then beneath ilk high e'e bree 

He placed a quiver there ; 
His bow ? What but her shinin' brow ? 
An' O sic deadly strings he drew 

Frae out her silken hair. 

Guid be our guard ! sic deeds waur deen, 

Roun' a' our countrie then ; 
An' monie a hangin' lug was seen 
'Mang farmers fat, an' lawyers lean. 

An' herds o' common men ! 



A*, all, Een, eyes. Neist, next, 

Baith, both. 'Frae, from. Sic, such. 

Bree, brow. Ilk, each. Syue, then, 

Deen, done. Lug, ear, Waefu*, teasing. 

Devilick, imp, Monie, many. Waur, were. 



57 



THE BLLNTD BOTS PRANKS. 

No. ir. 

m 

Love roam'd awa frae Uryside, 

Wi' bow an' barbet keen, 
Nor car'd a gowan whaur he gaed ; 
" Auld Scotland's mine, Lowe, heathy and glatic 

And I '11 trock that wi' nane. 



(( 



« 



Yon Ury damsel's diamond e'e, 

I 've left it evermair ; 
She gied her heart unkent to me ; 
Now prees what wedded wichts maan pree. 

When I 'm wwpriested there. 

That time by Ury's glowing stream, 

In sunny hour we met ; 
A lichter beild, a kinder hame 
Than in the breast o' that fair dame, 

I '11 never, never get. 




Pree8, proves. 
Trock, barter. 
Unkent, unknoiou. 
Whaur, whither. 
Wichts, worthies. 



58 THE BLIND BOy's PRANKS. 



(( 



I kenn'd her meet wi' kindly say, 

A lov'd, a lowly name ; 
The heartless ruled poor Jean — an* they 
Hae doom'd a loveless bride, for aye 

To busk a loveless hame. 



" I'll seek bauld Benachie's proud pow. 
Grey king of common hills ! 
And try hoo bodies' hearts may lowe 
Beneath thy shadeless, shaggy brow, 
Whaur dance a hundred rills." 

Now trampin' bits, now fleein' miles, 

Frae aff the common road, 
To keek at cadgers loupin' stiles, 
Wha try the virtue an' the wiles 

Of maidens lichtly shod. 

He passed Pittodrie's haunted wood,* 

Whaur devils dwalt langsyne ; 
He heard the Ury's timid flood, 
An' Gadie's heigh an' hurrit scud, 

In playfu' sweetness twine. 

Bauld, bold. Hae, have, Lichtly shod, Jare- 

Busky dress. Hoo, Juno. footed. 

Cadgers, country car- Keek, look. Lowe, blaze. 

riers. Kenn'd, knew. Pow, Jiead. 

Heigh an' hurrit, Umd Langsyne, long ago. Say, toords. 

and rapid. Loupin*, leaping. Whaur, where. 

* Among the many pretty legends and stories that affix to almost 
every hill and water, wood and howe of the Garioch, the foUowing 
is often heard: — Upon a time far, for gone hy, a Caledonian 



THB BLIND BOy's PRAKKS. 59 

An' there he saw (for Love has een, 

Tho' whiles nae gleg at seein') 
He saw an' kenn'd a kind auld frien', 
Wha wander'd ghaistlike an' alane, 

Forsaken, shunn'd, an' deein'. 

Aald, old, Ghaistlike, ghostlike, Nae gleg at seein', not 

Deein', df/ing. Kenn'd, knew* quicksighted. 



demon took a fancy, to amuse himself awhile in the neighbour- 
hood of Benachie — a portion of our world he had scarcely looked 
upon since the bloody game of Harlaw. To put matters astirring 
again in his own way, he took a stroll into the woods of Pitcodrie. 
There let him walk, while we take a hasty look at those upon whom 
he is said to have recommenced his dark doings. 

The boasted beauty of five parishes was the " Maiden of Drum- 
dumo." A former's only daughter she — a cantie, clever, hame- 
bred Scotch lassie. Three notions, in pai^ticular, appear to have held 
uppermost keeping in her bonnie brow — to-wit, that her father had 
the sharpest outlook, Benachie the highest tap, and her ain Jamie, 
the kindest heart in the whole world. 

Aware (and why not?) of her own personal loveliness, she wisely 
made all within as fair and fitting. She lived a creature full of soul 
— ^her breast the tenement of love and happiness— gaiety and tender- 
ness hovered in her eye, like watchful spirits, ready to minister — 
waiting, as it were, just to see what was wanted — a laugh or a tear. 
Many, many had wooed— one, at last, liad won her. The unsuccess- 
ful went, each according to his way, in these cases— some sighing, 
some drawing comfort from a new purpose, some from an old pipe- 
all, however, wishing happy days to the betrothed *' Maiden of 
Drumdurno.*' One alone — one fed the hope of vengeance — one g^im, 
horse-shoe-hearted rascal of a smith. Parish smith and precentor, 
too, he was. This rejected ruffian watched that night in Pittodrie 
woods, in thought that ''Jamie'' would, as usual, in leaving Drnm- 
dumo, pass that way. * ' Oh, that my eternal destruction could plague 
their earthly peace," cried he, "how soon and sure the bargain 
would be mine !" " Capital wish I" cried the seducer of Eve, *' I '11 
do the thing for you on your own conditions." Perpetual vassalage 
on the part of the ''red wud" smith— written desolation to the 



60 THE BLIND BOY's FRANKS. 

Her look ance gay as gleams o' gowd 

Upon a silvery sea ; 
Now dark an' dowie as the cloud 
That creeps athwart yon leafless wood, 

In cauld December s e'e. 

Dowie, cheerless, "Sue, no. 



luckless lovers of Drumdurno, was compact and settlement that night, 
in the black woods of Pittodrie. • • • The bonniest and the 
blythest lass within sight of Bcnachie was drifting up the bridal 
baking — and the bridal and the bannocks '' baith her ain.'' '^ It 
sets ye weel to work, lass, gin ye had onie mair speed at it." This 
compound of taunt and compliment was uttered by a stranger, who 
had been hanging on about the kitchen, the last hour or so — a queer, 
rollicking, funny, lump of a " roader," and, by his own story, in 
search of work* '^ I kenna whether it sets me or no," quoth the 
maiden, ''but I think nane could grudge wi' my speed.'* It is 
clear by this, that the complimentary portion of the stranger's re- 
mark had found its way. Alas ! the pitiable truth ! Alas ! for 
humanity ! When it would be flattered, the poison is more surely 
imparted beneath the roughest coverture. In faulting that which 
is blameless, the flatterer assumes the hue and weight of honesty, and 
works securely there. 

The jest and banter was exchanged, with mingled glee and ear- 
nestness, till at length the lass, all thoughtlessly, was inveigled into 
the fatal wager. The terms of that fearful agreement are stated at 
varied points of the horrible. The most temperate reciters insist 
that HE undertook to '' lay" a road from bottom to top of Benachie 
ere she baked up her firlot of meal. The forfeiture hazarded on his 
part is not on record. Most likely the light-hearted, happy bride 
regarded the whole as one of the merry jokes that rang from that 
merry old man, and heeded not exacting conditions in a matter she 
conceived to be impossible. Her part of the pledge, however, was, 
'' that she became his onm if the road is laid ere the meal be baken." 
* « ♦ ^ow, now, the last bannock is on the girdle, but for the 
past hour her mind was filling, in the gush of that tearful sweetness 
that pours o'er the heart of a willing bride, so the hill, the road, 
the wager, old man and all — all were forgotten — all overshaded that 



TH£ BLIND BOY's PRANKS. 61 



Hear ye the heartsick soun's that fa' 

Frae lips that bless nae mair ? 
Like beildless birdies when they ca' 
Frae wet, wee wing the batted snaw, 
Her sang soughs o' despair. 



Jbong of tit jfQVMktn. 

My cheek is faded sair, love, 
An' lichtless fa's my e'e ; 

My breast a' lane and bare, love. 
Has aye a beild for thee. 

An' lichtless fa's my Beildless, unsheltered. Lane, lone. 

e'e, my look is dis- Ca', sJiake off, Mair, more, 

regarded. Fa*, fall. Soughs, sounds. 

Batted, hardened. Frae, /row. Soun's, sounds, 

Beild, shelter. 



shared of earth — but one — one only, one dariing thought. The hour 
of tryst was near. The lowering, gloomy-like fall of the night dis- 
mayed her, and she looked wistfully at the cloud settling on the hill. 
'' Its nae that, nor mony siclike '11 gar him bide frae me; but I'm 
wae to see him weet. God of my heart," she cried, " what's yon I 
see!" * * * The road is to be seen to this day. She fled 
towards the woods of Pittodrie, pursued. The prayer she could 
not utter was answered. With the last bound the demon grasped 
a stone. Such the transformed bride. So she stands there even 
now. 

And quick the pace, and quick the pulse, 

Wha wanders there alane, 
Atween Pittodrie's drearie wood 

An' the dowie '* maiden's stane." 



62 THE BLIND BOY*S PRANKS. 

My breast, though lane and bare, 
The hame o' cauld despair, 
Yet ye 've a dwallin' there, 
A' darksome though it be. 

Yon guarded roses glowin*, 
Its wha daur min't to pu' ? 

But aye the wee bit gowan 

Ilk reckless hand may strew. 

An' aye the wee, wee gowan. 

Unsheltered, lanely growin', 

Unkent, uncared its ruin, 
Sae marklessly it grew. 

An' am I left to rue, then, 

Wha ne'er kent Love but thee ; 

An' gae a love as true, then. 
As woman's heart can gie ? 

But can ye cauldly view, 

A bosom burstin' fu' ? 

An' hae ye broken noo. 

The heart ye sought frae me ? 



Cauldly, coldly. Ilk, each, Sae, so, 

Daur, dare, Kent, knew. Unkent, unknown. 

Dwallin', house, Lanely, lonely. We bit gowan, little 

Gae, gave. Min't, venture. field daisy. 

Gie, give. Pu', pluck. Wha, who. 



63 



THE BLIND BOTS PRANKS. 



No. III. 



By the lowe o' a lawyer's ingle bricht, 

Wi' gruesome looks an' dark, 
The Deil sat pickin' his thum's ae nicht 

Frae evendoun want o' wark. 
At length in the learn'd lug to hark 

He cannilie screw'd him roun', 
Syne claw'd his elbow an' leuch to mark 

The lang-leaft bulk brocht doun. 

Wi' outshot een, o'er leaf an' line, 

Sae keenly did they leuk, 
An' oh ! there was ae waefu' sign 

Within that wearie bulk, 



Ae, one. Hark, whisper. Lug, ear. 

Bricht, bright. Ingle, chimney comer. Nicht, night. 

Buik, hook. Lang-leaft bulk brocht Sae, ao. 
Canidlie, slUy. doun,ledgerbrottght Syne, then. 

Chielf fellow, dovm, WaeUii, wotfuL 

Evendoun, downright. Leuk, look, Wearie, troublesome. 

Vne,from. Leuch, laughed, Wark, work, 

Qiuesome, loathsome. Lowe, blaze. 



64 THE BLIND BOy's PRANKS. 

Whan Hornie gae his mou a cruik 
An' whisper'd, " Look ye, here's 

A crafter* carl upon our hook 
Ahint these twa ' ha'f years.' 



it 



Gae harry him, man, an' gar him dee 

The lave is your's an' mine ; 
His daisy dochter's scornfu' e'e 

Will blink less saucy syne. 
In beinless wa's just lat her pine, 

Sic lanesome hardships pree ; 
An' here 's my loof the haughty quean 

Will fa' afore she flee." 

Love heard, an' skonnart wi' the plot 

Swore grey the very moon. 
That he would hae the lawyer shot, 

An' gar the ither droun. 
He flaft his wing o'er brae, an' boun' 

O'er field and forest wide ; 
In lowly biggin lichted doun 

An' knelt by Annie's side. 

Ahint these twa ' ha'f Cruik, ttoist. In, within* 

years, behind in his Daisy, darling, Lanesome, lonely. 

rent two terms, Dochter, daughter. Lave, rest, 

Beinless wa*s, comfort- Droun, drown. Loof, hand. 

less walls, Flait, flapped, Mou, mouth. 

Biggin, building, Gae harry, go ruin. Pree, prove. 

Blink, look. Gar him dee, m^ike him Sic, such, 

Boun', bounded, die, Skonnart, disgusted. 

Grafter carl, crofter Gar, make. Syne, then. 

man. Hae, have, 

* A crofter is one who holds a four or five acre piece of land, and 
house. 



THE BLIND BOY*S PRANKS. 65 

O, whaur is love maist lovely seen ? 

In timorous glances stealing — 
Half-hid, half-own'd, in diamond e'en 

The soul-fraught look revealing ? 
No ; see it there — a daughter kneeling 

A father's sickbed near, 
With upraised heart to heaven appealing. 

That — that *s the look for angePs wear ! 

Annie, sic look was thine that nicht, 

Yon waesome watchfu* hour ; 
The man o* bulks thow'd at the sicht — 

He tint a* pith an' pow'r. 
Auld Hornie then forthwith 'gan scour 

By heicht an' howe — an' then 
At Cardin's brig* he tumbl't o'er 

An' never raise again. 

The lanefu' lawyer held his breath, 

An' word micht utter nane ; 
But lookit aye — grew aye mair laith 

To blaud her bonnie een. 



filaud, blear, Mair laith, more loath. Sic, suc?i» 

Buiks, books, Micht, ?night, Sicht, sigfit. 

Heicht an' howe, hUl Nicht, night, Thow'd, melted, 

and dale. Pith, strength. Tint a', lost all, 

Lanefu*, /ortorw. Raise, rose, Waesome, dreary. 



* Cardin's brig over the Gadie, to the west of Logie, Elphin- 
stone. 



66 THE BLIND BOy's PRANKS. 

Love tb^ew a shaft, sae sure an' keen, 

It trembled in his heart ; 
An' micht I deem, altho' a stane 

Had dwallin' in the part. 

Syne, slow an' dowie, wending hame, 

Wi' cares unkent afore, 
His heart a' sinkin* doun wi' shame — 

Wi' new love gushin' o'er. 
By buik or bond he held nae store, 

For bound eneuch was he ; 
Nor could he read aucht ither lore 

Than beam'd in yon bricht e'e. 

A saflness hangs on ilka word ; 

A wish on ilka hour ; 
A sang is soucht fra' every bird, 

A sich frae every flower. 
Now briefs forsaken, rot an' sour — 

A sonnet rules a summons ; 
E'en Blackstone's weighty wit maun cour 

To far mair weighty woman's. 



Aucht ither, (mgkt Mair, more. Unkent afore,URA9iot0n 

other. Maun cour, must yield, brfore. 

Bricht e'e, bright eye. Sich, sigh. Wending hame, iMin- 

Ilka, every. Syne, then, dering home. 



67 



LINES 

OCCASIONED BY THE SUDDEN DEATH OP COUNT JOHN LESLIE 
OF BALQUHAIN AND FETTEBNEIB. 

Avgitst, 1844. 



Beloved by all — cut off in the dawn of manhood — he was borne to 

the grave by a weeping tenantry. 



Oh, why ? but God alone knows why — 

Do churk cling aye to earth ; 

While the brave and the just, and the generous die. 

The hour that owns their worth ? 

Alas ! and woe ! — so sad — so true, 
The blink that's brightest — briefest too. 

*T was a dolfu' dawn yon morning saw 
On the turrets of brown Balquhain ; 



Blink, beam. 



68 LINES ON 

When the Leslie lay on red Harlaw 

" Wr his six good sons a' slain."'*' 

But nane less leal the sigh and the tear, 
And the waesome hearts 'round Fetterneir. 

Waesome, sorrowful. 

* In 1 41 1, Donald of the Isles marched towards Aberdeen^ the 
inhabitants of which were in dreadful alarm at the near ap- 
proach of this marauder and his fierce hordes; but their 
fears were allayed by the speedy appearance of a well-equipped 
army, commanded by the Earl of Mar, who bore a high mili- 
tary character, assisted by many brave knights and gentlemen in 
Angus and the Meams. Advancing from Aberdeen, Mar marched 
by Inverury, and descried the Highlanders stationed at the village of 
Harlaw, on the water of Ury near its junction with the Don. Mar 
soon saw that he had to contend with tremendous odds, but although 
his forces were, it is said, as one to ten to that opposed to him, he re- 
solved, from the confidence he had in his steel-clad knights, to risk a 
battle. Having placed a small but select body of knights and men- 
at-arms in front, under the command of the constable of Dundee and 
the sheriff of Angus, the Earl drew up the main strength of his army 
in the rear, including the Murrays, the Straitons, the Maules, the 
Irvings, the Lesleys, the Lovels, the Stirlings, headed by their re- 
spective chiefs. The Earl then placed himself at the head of this 
body. At the head of the Islesmen and Highlanders was the Lord of 
the Isles, subordinate to whom were Mackintosh and Maclean and 
other Highland chiefs, all bearing the most deadly hatred to their 
Saxon foes. On a signal being given, the Highlanders and Islesmen, 
setting up those terrific shouts and yells which they were accustomed 
to raise on entering into battle, rushed forward upon their opponents ; 
but they were received with great firmness and bravery by the 
knights, who, with their spears levelled, and battle-axes raised, cut 
down many of their impetuous but badly armed adversaries. After 
the Lowlanders had recovered themselves from the shock which the 
furious onset of the Highlanders had produced. Sir James Scrymgeour, 
at the head of the knights and bannerets who fought under him, cut 
his way through the thick* columns of the Islesmen, carrying death 
every where around him ; but the slaughter of hundreds by this brave 
party did not intimidate the Highlanders, who kept pouring in by 
thousands to supply the place of those who had fallen. Surrounded 
on all sides, no alternative remained for Sir James and his valorous 
companions but victory or death, and the latter was their lot. The 



COUNT JOHN LESLIE. 69 

Don's waters deftly wandered on, 

Sae wantonly and sae clear ; 

And dazzling danced beneath the sun 

That gleam'd o'er Fetterneir. 

While the lov'd of the land is bounding away, 
Like his own bold stream — to the risen day. 



constable of Dundee was amongst the first who suffered, and his faU 
so encouraged the Highlanders, that seizing and stabbing the horses, 
they thus unhorsed their riders, whom they despatched with their 
daggers. In the mean time the Earl of Mar, who had penetrated 
with his main army into the very heart of the enemy, kept up the 
unequal contest with great bravery, and, although he lost during the 
action almost the whole of his army, he continued the fatal struggle 
with a handful of men till nightfall. The disastrous result of this 
battle was one of the greatest misfortunes which had ever happened 
to the numerous respectable families in Angus and the Meams. 
Many of these families lost not only their head, but every male in 
the house. Andrew Lesley, third Laird of Balquhain, is said to 
have fallen, with six of his sons (the Lauras Lesleana says eleven, 
and that he himself fell some years after in a battle at Brakoe, 
killed by the sheriff of Angus, 1420.) Isabel Mortimer, his wife, 
founded a chaplainry in the Chapel of Garioch, and built a cross 
called Leslie's Cross, to their memory. Besides Sir James 
Scrymgeour, Sir Alexander Ogilvy, the sheriff of Angus, with 
his eldest son George Ogilvy, Sir Thomas Murray, Sir Robert 
Maule of Panmure, Sir Alexander Irving of Drum, Sir William 
Abemethy of Sal ton. Sir Alexander Straiton of Lauriston, James 
Lovel, and Alexander Stirling, and Sir Robert Davidson, pro- 
vost of Aberdeen, with five hundred men-at-arms, including 
the principal gentry of Buchan, and the greater part of the 
burgesses of Aberdeen who followed their provost, were among 
the slain. The Highlanders left nine hundred men dead on the 
field of battle, including the chiefs, Maclean and Mackintosh. This 
memorable battle was fought on the eve of the feast of St. James 
the Apostle, the 24th day of July, in the year 1411, " and from the 
ferocity with which it was contested, and the dismal spectacle of 
civil war and bloodshed exhibited to the country, it appears to have 
made a deep impression on the national mind. It fixed itself in the 
music and the poetry of Scotland ; a march, called ' the Battle of 
Harlaw,' continued to be a popular air down to the time of Drum- 



70 LINES ON 

O bid him bide — ye birdies that sing ! — 
Or bid him nae fend sae fast — 
Hand back your tears ye witchfu' spring 
Wha's waters weird his last.* 

Fay, foredoomed* 

mond of Hawthornden, and a spirited ballad, on the same event, is 
still repeated in our age, describing the meeting of the armies, and 
the deaths of the chiefs, in no ignoble strain.'* Mar and the few 
brave companions in arms who survived the battle, were so ex- 
hausted with fatigue and the wounds they received, that they were 
obliged to pass the night on the field of battle, where they expected 
a renewal of the attack next morning ; but when morning dawned, 
they found that the Lord of the Isles had retreated, during the 
night, by Inverury and the hill of Benachie. To pursue him was 
impossible, and he was therefore allowed to retire, without molesta- 
tion, and to recruit his exhausted strength. The site of the battle is 
thus described in the manuscript Geographical Description of Scot- 
land collected by Macfarlane, and preserved in the Advocates' 
Library [Vol. i. p. 7.] : " Through this parish (the Chapel of 
Garioch, formerly called Capella Beatee Mariee Virginis de Gar- 
ryoch) runs the king's highway from Aberdeen to Inverness, and 
from Aberdeen to the high country. A large mile to the east of the 
church lies the field of an ancient battle called the battle of Harlaw, 
from a country town of that name hard by. Tfiis town, and the 
field of battle, which lies along the king's highway upon a moor, 
extending a short mile from south-east to north-west, stands on the 
north-east side of the water of Urie, and a small distance therefrom. 
To the west of the field of battle, about half a mile, is a farmer's 
house called Legget's Den, hard by, in which is a tomb, built in the 
form of a malt-steep, of four large stones, covered with a broad 
stone above, where, as the country people generally report, Donald 
of the Isles lies buried, being slain in the battle, and therefore they 
call it commonly Donald's Tomb." This is an evident mistake, as it 
is well known that Donald was not slain. Mr. Tytler conjectures 
with much probability that the tomb alluded to may be that of the 
chief of Maclean or Mackintosh, and he refers, in support of this 
opinion, to Macfarlane's Genealogical Collections, in which an ac- 
count is given of the family of Maclean, and from which it appears 



♦ The Count's death was occasioned by his incautiously drinking cold 
spring water, he being then over-heated, whilst shooting on the hills. 



COUNT JOHN LESLIE. 71 

But away and away — he bodes a bier, 
For the woods look fay 'round Fetterneir. * 

We lend no lay to living man — 

Nor sing for fee or fear ; 

Our cheek tho' pale, yet never faun' 

The stain of a mimic tear. 

In truth we mourn the bud that sprung, 
Unblossom'd — blighted — fair and young. 

that Lauchlan Lubanich had, by Macdonald's daughter, a son, called 
Eachm Rusidh ni Cath, or Hector Rufiis Bellicosus, who com- 
manded as lieutenant-general under the Earl of Ross at the battle of 
Harlaw, when he and Irving of Drum, seeking out one another by 
their armorial bearings on their shields, met and killed each other. 
This Hector was married to a daughter of the Earl of Douglas. 

* Fetterneir, once a summer seat of the bishops of Aberdeen. Wal- 
lace is said to have slept there one night ; hence part of it is called 
Wallace's Tower. At the Reformation this manor was given to the 
Lesleys of Balquhain (pronounced Balwine), for their assistance to 
the Earl of Huntly in protecting the Cathedral of Aberdeen from the 
fury of the Reformers. It is the burial-place of the Lesleys. 

The family of the Lesleys is five hundred and eighty years* stand- 
ing; Sir George, the founder, having got the lands of Balquhain 
from King David the Second in 1340. There had been four counts 
of this family, the last now living (1650) at the Emperor's court. 
The first of these counts was Walter, youngest son to John, tenth 
laird of Balquhain, by his third wife, who having, in A.D. 1634, 
killed Count Wallenstein, the Emperor's general, was made a 
colonel of the Guards, created Count Lesley, Field Marshal, Privy 
Councillor, Governor of Sclavonia, and by Leopold the First sent 
ambassador to Constantinople, having just before been made Knight 
of the Golden Fleece. He died in 1667, at Vienna. 

About half a mile to the south-east of the church is to be seen the 
old ruinous Castle of Balquhain. In it Queen Mary spent a day on 
her journey to the north, which terminated in the battle of Corrichie.^ 
The only remains of the building are a few shattered fragments of the 
court or quadrangle of which it at one time consisted, and the noble 
square tower or keep, which was erected about the year 1530 to 
replace the more ancient castle, which had been burned down in a 
memorable feud with the Forbeses in the year 1526. 



72 



WHISPERINGS FOR THE UNWASHED. 



C( 



Tyrants make not slaves— slaves make tyrants." 



Scene— A Town in the North. Time— Six o'clock morning. 

Enter Town Drummer.* 



RuBADUB, rubadub, row-dow-dow ! 
The sun is glinting on hill and knowe, 
An' saft the pillow to the fat man's pow — 
Sae fleecy an' warm the guid " hame-made, 
An' cozie the happin o' the farmer's bed. 
The feast o' yestreen how it oozes through, 
In bell an' blab on his burly brow. 
Nought recks he o' drum an' bell, 
The girnal's fou an' sure the " sale ;" 



5> 



Bell an* blab, atoeat Glinting, "beaming. Laird, landlord. 

drop, Hame-made, blanket Pow, head. 

"Fou, full. Happin, coijering. Yestreen, last night. 

Girnal, meal bin. Knowe, knoll. 



• In most of the small boroughs of the north of Scotland there 
is a town drummer, who parades at five in the summer and six 
o'clock in the winter. In Nairn a man blows a cow-horn. 



WHISPERINGS FOR THE UNWASHED. 73 

The laird an' he can crap an keep* — " 

Weel, weel may he laugh in his gowden sleep. 

His dream abounds in stots, or full 

Of cow an' corn, calf an' bull ; 

Of cattle shows, of dinner speaks — 

Toom, torn, and patch'd like weavers' breeks ; 

An' sic like meaning hae, I trow, 

As rubadub, rubadub, row-dow-dow. 

Rubadub, rubadub, row-dow-dow ! 
Hark, how he waukens the Weavers now ! 
Wha lie belair'd in a dreamy steep — 
A mental swither 'tween death an' sleep — 
Wi' hungry wame and hopeless breast. 
Their food no feeding, their sleep no rest. 
Arouse ye, ye sunken, unravel your rags. 
No coin in your coffers, no meal in your bags ; 
Yet cart, barge, and waggon, with load after load. 
Creak mockfully, passing your breadless abode. 
The stately stalk of Ceres bears. 
But not for you, the bursting ears ; 
In vain to you the lark's lov'd note, 
For you no summer breezes float. 
Grim winter through your hovel pours — 
Dull, din, and healthless vapour yours. 

Crap, crop. Hae, have, Toom, shallow. 

Belair'd, stuck* Stots, young cattle. Wame, belly. 

Din, noise. Swither, hesitation. 



* Had Heaven intended com to be the property of one class only, 
com would grow in one land only, and only on one stem. But corn is 
the child of every soil ; its grains and its stems are numberless as the 
tears of the hungi-y. The wide spread bounty of God was never 
willed to be a wide spread sorrow to man. 

E 



74 WHISPERINGS FOR THE UNWASHED. 

The nobler Spider* weaves alone, 
And feels the little web his ottm^ 
His hame, his fortress, foul or fair. 
Nor factory whipper swaggers there. 
Should ruflSan wasp, or flaunting fly 
Touch his lov'd lair, 't is touch and die ! 
Supreme in rags, ye weave, in tears. 
The shining robe your murderer wears ; 
Till worn, at last, to very " wasted' 
A hole to die in, at the best ; 
And, dead, the session saints begrudge ye 
The twa-three deals in death to lodge ye ; 
They grudge the grave wherein to drap ye, 
An* grudge the very muck to hap ye. 



Deals, hoards for a Muck, dirt. Waste, in weavers' Ian- 

coffin, Session saints, elders, guage broken threads. 

Hap, cover. 



* It was at Inverury, after losing seven battles against the English, 
that Robert Bruce, lying ill in his bed, marked a spider, which was 
endeaYOuring to mount to the ceiling, fall down seven times, but on 
the eighth attempt succeed. The Scotch and English army were 
just preparing for battle, when Bruce, inspired by this omen, rose, 
and heading his dispirited troops, after a desperate struggle succeeded 
in routing the enemy, and laid the foundation of a series of successes 
against the usurping invader, which secured the glory and inde- 
pendence of the kingdom of Scotland. The welcome he received at 
Inverury, in his dark hour of distress, induced him to bestow on it 
the privileges of a royal burgh. 

Nor is this the only time that the spider has influenced the destiny 
of kingdoms. In our own times the careful investigation of their 
habits in different weather, by a prisoner in his dungeon, afforded 
the indices upon which Dumourier invaded and overrun Holland in 
1797. 



WHISPERINGS FOR THE UNWASHED. 75 

Rubadub, rubadub, row-dow-dow ! 
The drunkard clasps his aching brow ; 
And there be they, in their squalor laid. 
The supperless brood on loathsome bed ; 
Where the pallid mother croons to rest, 
The withering babe at her milkless breast. 
She, wakeful, views the risen day 
Break gladless o'er her home's decay, 
And God's blest light a ghastly glare 
Of grey and deathy dimness there. 
In all things near, or sight or sounds, 
Sepulchral rottenness abounds ; 
Yet he, the sovereign filth, will prate, 
In stilted terms, of Church and State, 
As things that he would mould anew — 
Could all but his brute self subdue. 
Ye vilest of the crawling things, 
Lo ! how well the fetter clings 
To recreant collar ! Oh, may all 
The self-twined lash unbroken fall. 
Nor hold until our land is free'd 
Of craven, crouching slugs, that breed 
In fetid holes, and, day by day. 
Yawn their unliving life away ! 
But die they will not, cannot — why ? 
They live not — therefore, cannot die. 
In soul's dark deadness dead are they, 
Entomb'd in thick corkswoUen clay. 



Brood, /amiZy. Croons, groans* Sovereign filth, drunk- 

CorkswoUen, beery. ard, 

E 2 



76 WHISPERINGS FOR THE UNWASHED. 

What tho' they yield their fulsome breath, 
The change but mocks the name of death ! 
Existence, skulking from the sun. 
In misery many, in meanness one. 
When brave hearts would the fight renew, 
Hope, weeping, withering points to you ! 

Arouse ye, but neither with bludgeon nor blow. 
Let mind be your armour, darkness your foe ; 
'T is not in the ramping of demagogue rage, 
Nor yet in the mountebank patriot's page, 
In sounding palaver, nor pageant, I ween, 
In blasting of trumpet, nor vile tambourine ; 
For these are but mockful and treacherous things — 
The thorns that " crackle" to sharpen their stings. 
When fair Science gleams over city and plain. 
When Truth walks abroad all unfetter'd again, 
When the breast glows to Love and the brow 

beams in Light — 
Oh ! hasten it Heaven ! Man longs for his 

BIGHT. 



77 



THE MANIAC MOTHER'S DREAM. 

When sunlight leaves the lea, 

And songless birds would rest, 
When sleeping dews there be 

Upon the gowan's breast, — » 
Who, like the dark'ning west. 

That lone one ? Who is she ? 
'T is sorrow's fated guest, 

And this her revelry : — • 

Through crumbling tombs, o'er boneless graves, 
The wrathful wind in that hour that raves. 
Shall mingling, mingling, moan and sigh, 
To the maniac mother's lullaby ; 
While cow'ring 'neath the ruined wall 
Of Elgm's dark Cathedral.* 



* This yenerable and magnificent relic of cathedral grandeur 
18 situated in Elgin, Morayshire, on the banks of the river Lossie. 
It was built early in the thirteenth century. About a hundred 
and fifty .years after the foundation, it was entirely burned down 
by the ruffian son of a Scottish king. The creature — a common 
destroyer — lives yet in hateful record, as " The Wolf of Badenoch." 

'' The cathedral is surrounded by a burying-ground, one of the 
largest churchyards, perhaps, in Great Britain. In it are interred 



78 THE MANIAC MOTHEr's DREAM. 

As o'er her burning brow 

She laves yon holy spring, 
And down her cheek of snow 

The big tear mingling — 
Would some mild spirit bring 

The heart-wrung living gem, 
And place it sparkling 

In sorrow's diadem ! 

the remains of many distinguished persons, inclading seyeral of the 
kings of Scotland. The churchyard is enclosed hy a stone wall. 
What with the number of graves, the beauty and variety of the 
sculptured memorials of departed worth and greatness, and the 
grandeur of the dilapidated cathedral, — a building which is, indeed, 
pre-eminently magnificent, even in ruins, — the scene is calculated to 
make a strong impression on the spectator.'' 

It is not all of its early grandeur, nor of its latter desolation, its 
splendour nor its ruin — not all the historian has told or antiquarian 
minuted — will impart an interest to the spot, like what it derives 
now from a maniac— an outcast mother and her orphan boy. It fell 
out thus: — In 1745, Marjory Gillan, a young woman, resided in 
Elgin — she was well connected and goodlooking — was privately 
married to a young man who had enlisted in a regiment then quar- 
tered in the town — she went abroad with her husband, followed by 
the bitter reproach of her relatives and friends, who considered the 
step she had taken a discredit and an affront to all connected. In 
the same spirit of unrelenting harshness was she received on her 
return, which occurred about two years from the time she left. It 
was rumoured that her husband had used her ill, had left her behind, 
and was killed in battle. The forlorn one now sought her homeless 
native place, unsettled in mind, and carrying a baby in her arms. 
^* The reception she met with, and the wild fancies of a wandering 
mind, induced her to take a strange step. Amidst the crumbling 
ruins of the cathedral, there is one chamber still entire ; a small, 
cellar-like room, about five feet square, with scarcely any light, and 
which is said, in ancient times, to have been the sacristy, or place 
for keeping the vessels used in the offices of religion. Here the poor 
outcast took up her abode, rendered insensible, by her obscured rea- 
son, to the nocturnal horrors of a place which, in a better state of 



THE MANIAC MOTHEr's DREAM. 79 

Well might the sallow goddess wear 
In her cold coronal that tear ! 
The tear of tears is hers, all shed 
On sireless son's unsheltered head. 



mind, she would have dreaded to approach after dusk. There was 
in this room an ancient sculptured font, which she used as a bed to 
her infant ; other furniture she had none. When it was known that 
she had gone to reside in this dismal place, the people felt as if it 
were an imputation against their Christian feelings. She and her 
babe were repeatedly carried, by some one or other of them, to their 
houses, but she always made her way back to the sacristy. At length, 
finding her determined to live there, they contented themselves with 
giving her food and alms, and for several years she wandered about 
with her boy, under the appellation of ' Daft May CrilzearC* — a 
harmless creature, that wept and sang by turns. Her lover or hus- 
band was no more heard of in the country, although he had several 
relations living in the neighbourhood, with whom he might have been 
expected to correspond, if he had remained in life. Andrew Ander- 
son, the son of May Gilzean, grew up in all the raggedness and misery 
which might be expected under such circumstances to fall to his lot. 
It is questionable if he ever knew the comforts of a bed, or of a 
cooked meal of any kind, till his boyhood was far advanced. The 
one solacement of his forlorn existence was the affection which his 
mother always continued to feel for him.^'t Daft May dies — Andrew 
Anderson, her ragged and bewildered boy, is forced, by ungracious 
treatment from an uncle with whom he dwelt, to cast himself upon 
the world. Fortunately he had obtained some education gra- 
tuitously in his native place. With this, his only wealth, '' he made 
his way to Leith, and thence to London, where he was taken into the 
workshop of a tailor, who, finding that he wrote neatly and had a 
knowledge of accounts, bfegan, after some time, to employ him as a 
clerk. He was one day commissioned to take home a suit of 
clothes to a military gentleman, and to grant a discharge for the 
account. This gentleman was himself a Scotsman, and bore a 
commission in a regiment about to proceed to the East Indies. 
He was, like all Scotsmen at a distance from home, interested 



* The z in this name is not pronounced. 
t Chambers' Edinburgh Journal, No. 385. 



80 THE MAXIAC MOTHEr's DREAM. 

When misery's guideless gush is o'er, 
And drowning reason speaks no more ; 
When broken, withered, one by one. 
All, all earth-bounded wish is gone ; 
When woe is wearied, nor can tell 
On the scaithed breast another knell ; 
Oh ! mother's heart, up- welling there 
Aflfection wrestles with despair, 
And measureless that burning flow, 

A mother's heart alone may know. 

* # # # 

" Bairnie, mine, be hush'd to me. 
An' I '11 tell you a dream that I dreamt o' thee, 

in hearing his native tongue spoken, by however bumble a person. 
When, in addition to this, he observed the pleasing countenance and 
manners of the youth, and found that the discharge ap{)ended by him 
to the account was in a good regular hand, he entered into conversa- 
tion, asked whence he came, what were his prospects, and other such 
questions, and finally inquired if he would like to go abroad as a sol- 
dier and officer's servant. Anderson required little persuasion to in- 
duce him to enter into the stranger's views. He enlisted as a private, 
and immediately after set sail with the regiment, in the capacity of 
drummer, acting at the same time, according to previous agreement, 
as the valet or servant of his patron.'' A singularly marked Provi- 
dence guided the footsteps of " Daft May's loonie," and, after an 
absence of sixty years, he returned to the place of his nativity the 
renowned and wealthy Lieutenant-General Anderson of the East India 
Company's Service. He " founded and endowed, within the burgh 
of Elgin, an hospital for the maintenance of indigent men and women 
not under fifty years of age \ also a school of industry for the mainte- 
nance and education of male and female children of the labouring 
classes, whose parents are unable to maintain and educate them, and 
for putting out the said children, when fit to be so, as apprentices to 
some trade or occupation, or employing them in such a manner as 
may enable them to earn a livelihood by their lawful industry, and 
make them useful members of society." 



THE MANIAC MOTHEr's DREAliT. 81 

As we lay in the lythe o' yon bare graif-stane — 

Oh, me ! 't was an unco dream yestreen ; 

Yon gruesome spirit that haunts our hame, 

Wi' ither eldrich goblins came ; 

They pu'd my heart, and they dimm'd my e'e. 

Till my baby bairn I cou'dna see : 

But aye I heard your waesome cry, 

As they bore me o'er yon dreamy sky ; 

And weel, frae the height o' my heavenly ha', 

On sorrowin' earth my bairn I saw ; 

I saw you conjured — ^kent your greet. 

As you crouch'd and cower'd at the carlin's feet ; 

Ilk tear that sped frae your sleepless e'e 

Were draps like the livin' bleed frae me. 

Till toil'd, and torn, and wan, and wae. 

Ye wandered far frae your heather brae ; 

The shrifted souls that dwelt wi' me, 

Looked wistfu' o'er your destiny ; 

And oh! to me their holy sang 

In changefu' sweetness swelled alang ; 

And aye their godward melody 

Breathed watchfu' benisons on thee. 

I saw the warl' gang rowin' by. 

And you beneath its kindest sky ; 

I marked the hue o' crimson weir. 

Bedeck the breast o' my bairnie dear ; 

Benisons, blessings. Greet, to weep, cry. Rowin*, roUintj, 

Bleed, blood. Gruesome, loathsome. Wae, sad. 

Carlin, old woman. Ilk, each, Warl', icorld. 

Eldrich, hideous, Ither, otlier. Weir, toar. 

Tneffrom, Kent, knew, Wistfu', anxious. 
Gang, go, 

E 5 



82 THE MANIAC MOTH£R*S DREAM. 

Till the highest head in yon jewelled land, 

Bent to the beck o' my Andrew's hand. 

Ae time the warld came rowin' by, 

We missed ye in yon lo'esome sky. 

But tracked your keel across the main. 

To your hameless Highland braes again, 

And bonnie was the bough and fair 

Your brave hand brought and planted there ! 

Braid, braid its branch o' fadeless green, 

Wi' streaks o' sunny light between, 

As, laughing frae their yellow sky. 

They kissed the leaves that loot them by. 

There smiling Plenty safely laid 

In Mercy's lap her gowden head ; 

The fiercest winter winds that rair. 

Could never fauld a sna'-wreath there ; 

E'en misery's cauld and witherin' e'e 

Fell feckless o'er your stately tree. 

The stricken deer weel there might rest. 

And lap the bleed frae its dapple breast ; 

The wingless doo would leap and splash 

A' drippin' frae the hunter's flash, 

Safe shelter'd in yon shady fa'. 

To croon its little heart awa' ; 

And wee, wee birdies, nane could name, 

Came flutterin' there, and found a hame ; 

Ae, one, Fauld,/oW. Rowing rolling. 

Bleed, hhod. Feckless, ^6Zy. Sna'-wreath, mow- 

Braid, broad* 'FiSLeffi'om, wreath. 

Cauld, cold. Loot, Ut, Wee, smalls little. 

Croon, moan, Rair, to roar, Weel, toell, 
Doo, dove. 



THE MANIAC MOTHERS DREAM. 83 

E'en rooks and ravens, tired o' bleed, 
Sought shelter there in time o' need. 
But, oh ! that wind, its harrying scream 
Reive through the rest o' my bonnie dream." 

Harrying, ruinous. Reive, tore. 



84 



OLD FATHER FROST AND HIS FAMH^Y. 

Grim father Frost, he hath children twain, 

The cloud-bom daughters of Lady Bain ; 

The elder, a coquettish pattering thing, 

Would woo you in winter, and pelt you in spring ; 

At times you might scarce feel her feathery fall. 

Anon she will beard you with icicle ball ; 

When the warrings of heaven roll higher and higher. 

She, coward-like, flees from the conflict of fire — 



• Ere yet the schoolmaster was so much abroad, the school- 
mistress was very much at home. In Aberdeen, about thirty years 
ago, at any of fifty lowly firesides, could be found one of those simple 
academies yclept a *< Wifie's Squeel." In one of these was im- 
parted to me all the tuition I ever received in the way of letters 
— gatherings in after-life being only " crumbs firom the rich man's 
table." Our Wifle had always twenty scholars, one cat, one taurds, 
and one opinion. The scholars exercised her patience, the cat her 
afiections, and the opinion, simply that the taurds (a cordovan 
improvement on the feebler birch) was, as an exercise, the best 
panacea on earth for rheumatism in the right shoulder. When 
Elspet Gillespie wanted a bit of exercise in this way, there was no 
long waiting for a defaulter to give a duty-lilce interest to her 
emotions. The evolutions of the taurds then awakened some ex- 
citement throughout the establishment, accompanied by strong 
marks of disapproval in the party honoured by her immediate regard, 
and stirred curious sympathies even in those who sat by in safety — 

Taurds, a leather strap. 



OLD FATHER FROST AND HIS FAMILY. . 85 

Yet heightens the havoc, for her feeble power, 
Tho' scaithless the oak, how it fells the frail flower ! 
And the bud of the berry, the bloom of the bean. 
Are founder' d to earth by the merciless quean ; 

Quean, wench, jade. 



if, indeed, safety could be coupled with such an hour. When the 
pangs of rheumatism were lulled by a sense of weariness about the 
shoulder blade, Elspet resumed her proud elevation above the 
trembling assembly, who felt there was one great woman in the 
world, and there sat she. Boys five years old and upwards brought 
the fee of three ** bawbees" and a peat weekly. Our junior class 
was composed of little ones, who were too young to talk, but who, 
of course, made most noise. These were charged sixpence. I cannot 
say what portion of that sum was entered to " din." She had, 
indeed, much trouble with these, and longer time of it, having to 
tend them during the whole day, until their poor mothers returned 
from the spinning-mill or the field. The outfit for grown-up students 
was a Bible, a Westminster Catechism, and a stool, all of which 
were removed on Saturday, and fetched again on Monday. Oh, that 
I could tell, and tell it rightly, the " skailing of the squeel !" or 
paint yon joyous little mob, gushing forth from the laigh door of 
Elspet Gillespie ! Every face a commentary on the *' rights of man" 
— every little head crowned with a three-footed stool, its " cap of 
liberty." There they ^o, — a living forest, less leafy, less orderly than 
the Birnam wood that moved to Dunsinane. Thus should it be — 
this left a tyrant — that sought one. But the day of days, in Elspet 
Gillespie's ragamuffin college, was Candlemas day. Then the very 
madness of young mirth prevailed, washing off the jagged recollec- 
tions of bygone sufferings, and sweetening down the three hundred 
and sixty-four sorrows of the season. Elspet on that day wore a 
smile on her face, and a high caul cap on her head — the taurds and 
cat invisible — locked up, it may be, in passive unity— the envied 
brute and detested leather. No matter how wrapped our vulgar 
days. Candlemas claimed a clean sark to every laddie — to every 
lassie a white frock, and to each a white pocket napkin. A king 
and queen were, by the breath of Elspet, created on the spot. Who 

Bawbee, a halfpenny, Taigh, lowly. Skailing, going out. 

Caul, triangular shape, ark, shirt. 



86 OLD FATHER FROST AND HIS FAMILY. 

E'en the stout stems of summer full often must quail 
To this rattling, brattling, head-breaking hail. 
I '11 not say a word of how rudely she breaks 
On the dream of the garret-doomed maid, and awakes 
A thousand regrets in the marrowless lass. 
And cruelly mimics the " touch on the glass," 

Marrowless, unmarried. 



the distinguished? It was the undeviating custom for parents to 
tender, on Candlemas eve, a guerdon to our tutoress, less or lesser, 
as earthly means permitted. So it fell out somehow that, in every 
rememberable instance, either the baker or the butcher rejoiced in 
the royal issue. Hence our gossiping mothers of meaner note did, in 
their envy, whisper that Eppie's royal rule was, " Wha buys the 
whistle?" Never mind that, we *ve seen the like since then — no 
disparagement to ''the powers that breathe.'' Two teaspoonfiils 
of sweeties and an orange was laid on every happy hand. The 
fiddler comes — all on foot at once — all at once in motion — twenty 
white napkins flutter over twenty pretty heads. Fiddler ! what care 
they for a fiddler? They see the fiddle ! The dance started when he 
began to tune — the dance continues — he is tuning still — hands up ! 
Patter, patter, patter — forty little feet pattering ! Think of that when 
you see the hail dance to the whirr of a May shower! Oh! the 
days of childhood ! Voyage thereafter as we may, on smooth or on 
broken water, these are the landmarks that will never fade. The 
blue of our native hills may be lost to the eye for long, long years, 
yet once again we press their heathy belts ; but you, ye sunny scenes 
of infancy, though ye glimmer through every darkness, and at every 
distance, we meet never again. " Old Father Frost" was the result 
of a sportive contest in rhyming between the author and Mr. Adam, 
whose verses are subjoined, as well for their native prettiness as 
their giving interest and character to the whole. 

Old Father Frost hath children twain, 
Begotten 'twixt him and his Lady Rain ; 
Though he is harsh, yet mild is she. 
And this is seen in their family. 

Old Father Frost and hid family ! 



OLD FATHER FROST AND HIS FAMILY. 87 

With her cold little pearls, that dance, bound, and 

play, 
Like our ain bonnie bairns on Candlemas day. 
You know her meek sister ? Oh, soft is the fall 
Of her fairy footsteps on hut and on hall ! 
To hide the old father's bleak doings below. 
In pity she cometh, the minist'ring snow. 

Ain, ouon. Bairns, children* Bonnie, pretty. 



Yes, Father Frost is a hard old churl, 
On his upper lip there *8 a hitter curl; 
And his black ill-favoured visage throws 
A sombre shade o'er his pale blue nose. 
Old Father Frost and his family ! 

When the summer heat hath passed away. 
And gentle Rain gives up her sway, 
Old Father Frost, with his iron hand. 
Seizes and binds each northern land. 
Old Father Frost and his family ! 

And hard it were for the creatures of earth, 
Were it not that Lady Rain gives bhrth 
To her chaste and kindly daughter. Snow, 
Who throws her mantle o'er all below. 
Old Father Frost and his family ! 

For stern is the fiat of Father Frost, 
He chains the waters though tempest tos't ; 
And he freezes up the very ground 
Till it yields a ringing metal sound. 
Old Father Frost and his family ! 

But like the Paynim maid in the minstrel tale. 
Who released the knight from her father's jail. 
Sweet sister Snow sets prisoners free, 
And mitigates Frost's severity. 

Old Father Frost and his family! 



88 OLD FATHER FROST AND HIS FAMILY. 

With her mantle she covers the shelterless trees, 
As they groan to the howl of the Borean breeze ; 
And baffles the search of the subtle wind, 
Guarding each crevice lest it should find 
Its moaning way to the fireless fold 
Of the trembling young and the weeping old, 
When through her white bosom the daisy appears, 
She greets the fair stranger with motherly tears ! 
And they mingle so sweet with the golden ray 
Of the struggling beam that chides her away. 
But where 's the last speck of her brightness seen. 
Mid the bursting spring and its saucy green ? 
In the coldest side of yon lone churchyard, 
Neglected graves she loveth to ward ; 
But not where gorgeous marble pleads. 
And frequent foot of mourner treads ; 
But down by the stranger's noteless lair, 
Where sighs are few and footsteps rare, 
She loveth, she loveth to linger there ! 
O'er hearts forgotten that sleep below, 
There is none to weep but the friendly snow. 

Fold, shelter. 

Not so kind by half is brother Hail, 
Who rattles about in his coat of mail, 
And bends and shatters both shrub and flower, 
In the wanton display of his father's power. 
Old Father Frost and his family 1 

But Frost, and Rain, and Hail, and Snow, 
Come at your time when you come below ; 
And w^ '11 welcome you all with a cheerful smile. 
And drink and laugh and sing the while. 
Old Father Frost and his family ! . 



89 



AUTUMN WINDS. 
Air—" Bonnie House o' Airly. 



*i 



Oh, ye waesome winds, hoo your mourning grieves, 
Hoo your sighing an' moaning fear me ! 

As ye toss an' tear the trembling leaves 
That ye cherished when he was near me. 

I 've kent ye woo them — I 've heard ye woo, 

As saftly as woman's lane sighing ; 
When ye slyly kissed the cozie dew 

Frae their faulded bosoms lying. 

Now nightly athwart the naked plain, 

Ye are whirling the saucy snaw in ; 
Ye 've changed the dew to the pelting rain. 

Till your poor droukit leaves are fa'in. 

Hae ye fausely strayed 'mang misty groves, 
Wi' ice-wreathed maidens to marrow ? 

Oh, they 've come an' slain your bonnie summer loves. 
An' driven ye daft wi' sorrow ! 

Cozie, snug. Tmeyfrom. Marrow, keep company 

Daft, mad* Hae, Jiave. with. 

Droukit, drenched, Hoo, how. Saftly, softly. 

FsLnlded, folded. Kent, knovm. Waesome, woesome, 

'FsLuaely, falsely. Lane, lone. 



90 AUTUMir WINDS. 

Bat my We is trae, ye winds that blaw, 
And your fauseness maunna fear me ; 

His kind heart never will flit nor fa'. 
Nor own anither dearie. 

There 's ae green branch on yon blighted tree. 

An' the lave a' darkly dwining ; 
There 's ae bricht e'e looks love to me, 

Like the weird licht o'er me shining. 

Yet oh, ye winds, hoo your wailing grieves ! 

Hoo your sighing an' moaning fear me ! 
As ye toss an' tear the dowie grey leaves 

That waur green, green, when he was near me. 



Blaw, blow. TAMBenesB, falsely • Maunna, mtat not, 

Bricht, bright. Flit, to remove. Waur, were. 

Dowie, sickly. Hoo, how. Weird licht, light of 

Dwining, loithering. Lave, rest, my destiny. 



91 



OH, MARY ! WHEN YOU THINK OF ME. 

[For a period of seventeen years, I was employed in a great 
weaving factory in Aberdeen, It contained upwards of three 
hundred looms, worked by as many male and female weavers. 
'T was a sad place, indeed, and many a curiosity sort of man and 
woman entered that blue gate. Amongst the rest, that little, 
sly fellow Cupid would steal past " Willie, the porter" (who 
never dreamed of such a being) — steal in amongst us, and make 
a very harvest of it. Upon the remembrance of one of his 
rather graver doings, the song of " Mary" is composed. One 
of our shopmates, a virtuous young woman, fairly, though un- 
consciously, carried away the whole bulk and value of a poor 
weaver's heart. He became restless and miserable, but could 
never muster spirit to speak his flame. " He never told his 
love" — ^yes, he told it to me. At his request, I told it to Mary, 
and she laughed. Five weeks passed away, and I saw him to 
the churchyard. For many dajrs ere he died, Mary watched by 
his bedside, a sorrowful woman, indeed. Never did widow's 
tears fall more bumingly. It is twenty years since then. She 
is now a wife and a mother ; but the remembrance of that, their 
last meeting, still haunts her sensitive nature, as if she had done 
a deed of blood.] 

Oh, Mary ! when you think of me, 

Let pity hae its share, love ; 
Tho' others mock my misery, 

Do you in mercy spare, love. 

Hae, have^ 



92 OH, mart! when you think of me. 

My heart, oh, Mary ! own'd but thee. 
And sought for thine so fervently ; 
The saddest tear e'er wet my e'e, 
Ye ken wha brocht it there, love. 

m 

Ohj lookna wi' that witching look. 
That wiled my peace awa', love ! 
An' dinna let me hear you sigh. 
It tears my heart in twa, love ! 

Resume the frown ye wont to wear. 
Nor shed the unavailing tear, 
The hour of doom is drawing near, 
An' welcome be its ca', love ! 

How could ye hide a thought sae kind. 

Beneath sae cauld a brow, love ? 
The broken heart it winna bind 
Wi' gowden bandage now, love. 

No, Mary ! mark yon reckless shower ! 
It hung aloof in scorching hour. 
An' helps nae now the feckless flower 
That sinks beneath its flow, love. 



Brocht, broitght, Veckless, feeble. Sae, so, 

Ca', call. Ken, know. Twa, twain. 

Cauld, cold. Lookna, look not. Wha, toko. 

Dinna, do not, Nae, not. Winna, tcill not. 



93 



I'VE SOUGHT IN LAKDS AYONT THE SEA. 



Written at Stocks, near Tring, 1841. 



Air — *' My Normandie." 

I *VE sought in lands ayont the sea 
A hame — a couthie hame for thee, 
An* honeysickle bursts around 
The blithesome hame that I hae found ; 
Then dinna grudge your heather bell — 
Oh, fretna for your flowerless fell — 
Here dale an* down mair fair to see. 
Than ought in our ain bleak countrie ! 

Come o'er the waters, dinna fear. 
The lav'rock lilts as lo'esome here. 
An' mony a sweet, around, above, 
Shall welcome o'er my Jessie, love. 



Ain, own. Fretna, /re^ not. Lilts, sings. 

Ayont, beyond* Hame, home, Lo'esome, lovely. 

Couthie, co7/^ortable, Lav'rock, lark, Mair, more, 
Dinna, do not. 



94 I 'VB SOUGHT IN LANDS AYONT THE SEA. 

My hame wi* halesome gear is fu*, 
My heart wi* loweing love for you ; 
Oh, haste, my Jessie, come an' see 
The hame — the heart that waits for thee ! 

But mind ye, lass, the fleetfu* hours. 
They wait nae — spare nae fouk nor flowers, 
An' sair are fouk and flowers to blame, 
Wha wishfu', wastefii' wait for them. 
Oh, bide nae lang in swither, then, 
Since flowers an' fouk may wither, then ; 
But come, as lang 's I hae to gie 
A hame — a heart to welcome thee ! 



Yleetin'f fleeting. Hae, Jiave. Nae, not, 

Voukt/olk, Halesome, wholesome* Sair, much, 

QesLT, furniture, Loweing, burning, Switiier, doubt. 



95 



I WOULDNA— OH ! I COULDNA LOOK. 



" Should auld acquaintance be forgot V* Ay, faith ; and in some 

cases the sooner the better too. 



I wouLDNA — oh ! I couldna look 

On that sweet face again ; 
I daurna trust my simple heart, 

Now it 's ance mair my ain. 

I wouldna thole what I hae thol'd. 

Sic dule I wouldna dree, 
For a' that love could now unfold 

Frae woman's witchfu' e'e. 

I 've mourn'd until the waesome moon 

Has sunk ahint the hill, 
An' seen ilk sparkling licht aboon 

Creep o'er me, mournin* still. 



Aboon, above. Dule, sorrow, Mair, more, 

Ahint, behind, VrBe^from, Sic, such, 

Ance, once, Hae, ?iave. Thole, endure, 

Daurna, durst not. Ilk, each. Waesome, woesome. 

Dree, undergo, Licht, light, Wouldna, would not. 



9f) I WOULDNA — OH ! I COULDNA LOOK. 

I Ve thoclit my very mither's hame 
Was liamcless-Iike to me ; 

Nor could I think this warld the same 
That I was wont to see. 

But years o' mingled care hae past, 
Wi' blinks o' joy between ; 

An' yon heart-hoarded form at last 
Forsakes my doited een. 

Sae cauld and dark my bosom now, 
Sic hopes lie buried there ! 

That sepulchre whaur love's saft lowe 
May never kindle mair. 

I couldna trust this foolish heart 
When its ance mair my ain ; 

I couldna — oh ! I daurna look 
On Mary's face again ! 



Ain, own. Doited, confused* Mair, more. 

Ance, once. Een, eyes, Sae, so, 

Couldna, could not, Hae, have. Sic, such. 

D&uma, durst not. LowCj flame, Thochtf thought. 



97 



JEANIE'S GRAVE. 

I SAW my true Love first on the banks of queenly Tay, 
Nor did I deem it yielding my trembling heart away ; 
I feasted on her deep dark eye, and loved it more 

and more, 
For, oh ! I thought I ne'er had seen a look so kind 

before ! 

I heard my true Love sing, and she taught me many 

a strain. 
But a voice so sweet, oh ! never shall my cold ear 

hear again. 
In all our friendless wanderings, in homeless penury, 
Her gentle song and jetty eye were all unchanged 

to me, 

I saw my true Love fade — I heard her latest sigh — 

I wept no frivolous weeping when I closed her light- 
less eye ; 

Far from her native Tay she sleeps, and other waters 
lave 

The markless spot where Ury creeps around my 
Jeanie's grave. 

Move noiseless, gentle Ury! around my Jeanie's bed. 
And I *11 love thee, gentle Ury ! where'er my foot- 
steps tread ; 

F 



98 jeanie's grave. 

For sooner shall thyfairy wave return from yonder sea, 
Than I forget yon lowly grave, and all it hides from me.* 



* Three mountain streamlets brawl separately down their break- 
neck journey, and tumble in peace together at the woods at Newton^ 
near Old Rayne. This quiet confluence is the Ury. Like worn- 
out racers, these boisterous bums take breath, gliding along in 
harmonious languor some three or four miles, when the peaceful 
Ury is, as it were, cut through by the Gadie, a desperately crab- 
bed-looking rivulet, raging and rumbling from Benachie. From 
this last annoyance, Ury moves onward in noiseless sweetness, 
winding and winding, as if aware of its own brief course, and all 
unwilling to leave the braes that hap the heroes of Harlaw. By- 
and-by, it creeps mournfully past the sequestered graveyard of 
Inverury, kisses the " Bass," and is swallowed up in the blue waters 
of the Don ; its whole extent being only ten miles. Close by the 
graveyard stands the Bass of Inverury — a conical-shai>ed hill, thickly 
studded with trees. The gloomy legends told of its origin and sub- 
sequent uses, would make one readily own its fitting neighbourhood 
to a place of skulls. One will tell you that, once upon a time, the 
plague came upon Scotland, and Inverury had its share; that a 
deserted house stood then on the banks of the Ury — thither was 
carried the infected till the number of patients outran the skill and 
resources of their friends, who assembled to deliberate on " ways 
and means." It was then settled upon, that, to shorten present 
sufPering, and to secure future safety, the best way was to bury them 
forthwith, house and all. It was done then. Hence the *' Bass." 
** Some maintain that the Bass has been used for judicial purposes. 
By others it is supposed to be of a sepulchral character ; and to con- 
tain the remains of Eth or Aoth, a Pictish king, who was killed a year 
after his accession in a.d. 881 The old rhyme of Thomas the Rhymer, 

' When Dee and Don shall run in one. 

And Tweed shall run in Tay, 
The bounie water of Ury 
Shall bear the Bass away,' 
is in every one's mouth in this district." 

At Newton are some remarkable lofty stones (monoliths). The 
Antiquarian Society have had casts made of the inscriptions and figures 
on them, but they have hitherto defied the attempts of the learned to 
decypher them. 



99 



THEY SPEAK O' WYLES. 
Air — ** Gin a bodie meet a bodie.'* 

They speak o' wyles in woman's smiles, 

An' ruin in her e'e — 
I ken they bring a pang at whiles 

That 's unco sair to dree ; 
But mind ye this, the half-ta'en kiss, 

The first fond fa'in' tear, 
Is, Heaven kens, fu* sweet amends 

An' tints o' heaven here. 

When twa leal hearts in fondness meet, 

Life's tempests howl in vain — 
The very tears o* love are sweet 

When paid with tears again. 
Shall sapless prudence shake its pow, 

Shall cauldrife caution fear ? 
Oh, dinna, dinna droun the lowe 

That lichts a heaven here ! 



Cauldrife^ coldish. Ken, know. Sair, sore, 

Binna, do not. Leal, true. Unco, very. 

Dree, endure. Lichts, lights* Wyles, cunning. 

Droun, drown, lAywe, flame. 



100 



THE LAST TRYST. 

This nicht ye *11 cross the bosky glen, 
Anee mair, oh, would ye meet me then ? 
I '11 seem as bygane bliss an' pain 

Were a' forgot, 

I winna weep to weary thee, 

Nor seek the love ye canna gie ; — 

Whaur first we met,* oh, let that be 

The parting spot ! 

The hour just when the faithless licht 
O' yon pale star forsakes the nicht ; 
I wouldna pain ye wi* the blicht 

Ye Ve brought to me. 

Nor would I that yon proud cauld ray 
Should mock me wi' its scomfu' play ; — 
The sunken een and tresses gray 

Ye maunna see. 




Mair, more. 
Maunna, must not, 
Nicht, night. 
Whaur, where. 
Winna, wUl not. 



THE LAST TRYST. 101 

Wi' sindered hearts few words will sair, 
An' brain-dried grief nae tears can spare ; 
These bluidless lips shall never mair 

Name thine or thee. 

At murky nicht, oh, meet me then ! 
Restore my plighted troth again ; 
Your bonnie bride shall never ken 

Your wrangs to me. 

Bluidless, bloodless. Nicht, night, Sair, satisfy. 

Ken, know, Mair, more. Sindered, parted. 

Nae, no. Murky, dark. Wrangs, toron^. . 



102 



OXE OF THE HEARTS STRUGGLES. 
Air — " Willie was a wanton wag." 

** Oh ! let me gang, ye dinna ken 

How sair my mither flate yestreen — 
An', mournin o'er and o'er again, 

Speir'd whaur I gaed sae late at e'en. 
An' aye I saw her dieht her een — 

My very heart maist brak to see 't — 
I 'd byde a flyte though e'er sae keen. 

But canna, canna thole her greet." 

" Oh ! blessin's guard my lassie's brow, 
And fend her couthie heart frae care ; 
Her lowein' breast o' love sae fu' — 
How can I grudge a mither's share ? 



Brak, hroke. 
Byde, endure, 
Canna, cannot. 
Couthie, Hnd, 
Dicht, wipe, 
Dinna. do not. 
Een, eyes. 
Fend, protect. 



Flate, cried. Maist, almoet. 

Flyte, scolding, Sae, so. 

Gaed, toent, Sair, much. 

Gang, go. Speir'd, asked. 
Greet, tear 'Shedding. Thole, endure. 

Ken, know. Whaur, where. 

Lowein', bumifig. Yestreen, last night. 



ONE OF THE HEABT^S STRUGGLES. 103 

The hinnysuckle 's no sae fair. 

In gloamin's dewy pearl weet, 
As my love's e'e when tremblin' there 

The tear that owns a mither's greet. 

" A heart a' warmed to mither's love — 

Oh ! that 's the heart whaur I wad be ; 
An' when a mither's lips reprove, 

Oh ! gie me then the glist'nin' e'e. 
For feckless fa's that look on me, 

Howe'er sae feigned in cunnin's sweet— 
And loveless — luckless — is the e'e 

That, tearless, kens a mither greet." 



TecklesBf feebly. Greet, cry. Wad, would. 

Gie, give. Kens, knows, Weet, wet, 

Gloamin', twilight, Sae, so, Whaur, where. 
Greet, tears. 



104 



YE DINNA KEN YON BOWER. 

Air— "Jenny Nettles." 

Ye dinna ken yon bower, 
Frae the glow'rin' warl' hidden, 
Ye maunna ken yon bower 

Bonnie in the gloamin'. 
Nae woodbine sheds a fragrance there, 
Nae rose, nae daffodillie fair ; 
But, oh ! yon flow'r beyond compare 

That blossoms in the gloamin'. 

There 's little licht in yon bower, 
Day and darkness elbow ither. 
That's the licht in yon bower, 

Bonnie in the gloamin'. 
Awa* ye sun, wi' lavish licht, 
And bid brown Benachie guid nicht ; 
To me a star mair dearly bricht 

Aye glimmers in the gloamin*. 

Bonnie, heauttful, Qlow'rin', staring, Mair, more, 

Bricht, bright. Quid, good, Maunna, must not. 

Dinna, do not. Hidden, hiding. Nae, no. 

Frae,/rom. Ither, each other, Nicht, night. 

Gloamin', after ttoi- Ken, Jmow. WarP, world, 

light* Licht, light. 



YE DINNA KEN YON BOWER. 105 

There 's nae a sound in yon bower, 
Merl's sough nor mavis singin' ; 
Whispers saft in yon bower, 

Mingle in the gloamin*. 
What though drowsie lav'rocks rest, 
Cow'rin' in their sangless nest ? 
When, oh ! the voice that I like best 

Cheers me in the gloamin*. 

There *s artless truth in yon bower. 
Sweeter than the scented blossom ; 
Bindin' hearts in yon bower, 

Glowin' in the gloamin'. 
The freshness o' the upland lea. 
The fragrance o' the blossom'd pea, 
A' mingle in her breath to me, 

Sichin' in the gloamin'. 

CONCLUDING CHORUS. 

Then haud awa' frae yon bower, 
Cauldrife breast or loveless bosom ; 
True love dwells in yon bower. 

Gladdest in the gloamin'. 



Awa', away, Lav'rocks, larks, Sangless, sangless, 

Cauldrife, coldish, Nae, not, Siching, sighing. 

Vne,fr<nn, Saft, w/f . Sough, sound. 
Haud, keep. 



F 5 



106 



BONNIE MAY. 



Air — " The year that *8 awa'.'* 



Oh, whaur hae ye gane, bonnie May 
Hae ye left us for ever an' aye ? 
Your daft brither, June, brak in wi' a stoun*, 
Maist fi^ichtit our birdies away, 

Oh, May ! 
An' feint a bit liltie hae they. 

Our go wans droop wither'd an' grey. 
Our bairnies creep sullen an' blae ; 
Through bliflerts o' caul' they yaumer an' yaul, 
An' want ye to warm them. May, 

Oh, May ! 
Our dear, duddie bairnies. May. 



Blae, bluBf cold, 
Blifferts, gusts, 
Brak, broke. 
Brither, brother, 
CauV, cold. 
Daft, mad. 



Duddie, ragged, Liltie, song. 

Feint, deuce, Maist, almost, 

Yvichiitf frighted, Stoun, /i/ry. 

Gane, g(me, Whaur, where. 

Gowans, field daisies. Yaumer an' yaul, weep- 
Hae, have, ing and hoicUng, 



BONNIE MAY. 107 

The whir o' the witherin' wind 
Drives madly o'er burn an' brae ; 
The tremblin' breird fa's sadden an' sear'd, 
An' kens nae the nicht frae the day, 

Oh, May ! 
An' hae ye forsaken us, May ? 

Our crafters look crabbit an' fey, 
Our wee bits o' bushes decay ; 
They crouch in the yard, cauld blabs on ilk beard, 
An' greet to the mornin' grey. 

Oh, May ! 
They miss the lythe licht o' their May. 

I 've nae mair to sing or to say, 
But come, gin you 're comin', sweet May, 
Ere Martinmas drear, set the Factor asteer. 
An' then there 's the deevil to pay. 

Oh, May ! 
Our stools an' our tubbies away ! 

Asteer, abroad, Vey, foredoomed, Licht, light. 

Blabs, hlohs. Factor, agent. Lythe, warm, 

Breird, braird,* Gin, if, Nae mair, no viorc. 

Brae, hill. Greet, weep, Tubbies, tubs dis- 

Burn, brook, Hae, huve, trained for rent* 

Cauld, cold. Ilk, each* Wee, little, 

Crafters, crofters. Kens nae, Jtnoios not. Whir, rush, 
small tenants, 

* " Braird," the first shootings of the crop. 



108 



LINES WRITTEN AT RAVENSCRAIG, 

A RUIN ON THE BANKS OP UGIE, NEAR PETERHEAD, 

ABERDEENSHIRE. 



" A building — such a one 
As age to age might add for uses vile^ 
A windowless, deformed^ and dreary pile." 

Shelley. 



Yon 's Ravenscraig, wi' riven ha', 
A thousand winters shook its wa' — 
Tired Time let scythe an' san'glass fa', 
To breathe awhile at Ugie. 

For here, by brake, by bum an' lea, 
Fair Nature freaks sae changefullie ! 
Now lauchin' daft, syne greets to see 
Yon grim, grey towers at Ugie. 

An' wha can mark yon dungeon dour, 
Unmindfu' o' the waesome hour. 
When man o'er man, wi' fiendish power. 
Made sick the tremblin' Ugie. 



Daft, madly. Ha', Jiall. Syne, then. 

Dour, surly. San'glass, hour-glass. Waesome, woeful. 

Greets, toeeps* 




LINES WRITTEN AT RAVENSCRAIG. 109 

Bring ivy wi' its peacefu' green, 
Gae hide ilk hoar, unhallow'd stane ; 
They maunna bloat yon bonnie een 
That watch the gushin' Ugie. 

For yonder 's she, in love's loved dress, 
In youth, in truths in tenderness — 
Sure Heaven lent that bonnie face 
To bless the tearfu' Ugie ! 

'T is sic a face, 't is sic a mien. 
An' oh ! sic wylie, witchin' een, 
Gars Time upon his elbow lean. 
An' sich to cross the Ugie. 



Bonnie, lovely. Ilk, each. Sich, sigh, 

Een, eyes. Maunna, must not. Wylie, sly. 

Oars, caicseth, SiC; such like. 



110 



A LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF THE 



Inverury, March 1st, 1844. 

Snt, — In your paper, the other week, I read of a woman, 
Cameron, Overgate, Dundee, foimd dead — her child, a boy of 
seven years, sleeping beside her. She expired unknown to any 
— she and her little son lying on a shakedoum in a wretched 
hovel — not a morsel of food, but every mark of starvation, cold, 
and hunger. Now, sir, having myself tasted the bitter cup 
— having seen death at work in this same hideous form — the 
above tragedy affected me very much. I do not think ill of 
mankind, but the contrary. I would not reflect on the good' 
will of those who undertake, and whose duty it then is, to watch 
the abodes of misery. Reproach may not apply to the ipill of 
parties so placed; but what could the mildest say of that 
blameable and fatal ignorance that thus defeats the very best 
ends of mercy — leaving a human creature to struggle with 
death in its most revolting attitude — then mock the whole with 
a sort of posthumous wail ? I sincerely believe that there was 
not one in Dimdee, that night — whether on hardest pallet or 
softest down — ^but would have started in the dark hour, 
ministered to yon perishing woman, soothed the little trembler 
at her cold breast, and been happy. But who knew of it ? 
Why, everybody, next day, when the white coffin * is seen borne 
along by a troop of pale-faced existences, whose present suffering 



* In Dundee, it lately was the case, if not still, that paupers' coffins 
were not allowed to be blackened. 



LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF THE . Ill 

is nowise smoothed by the prospect offered in their then chwie 
occupation, and the fate that may be their own one cold dark 
night, ere long. Starvation to death is not uncommon amongst 
us; yet we are in the nineteenth century — the pearl age of 
benevolent societies, charity-schools, and "useful knowledge." 
Would benevolence be perverted, charity made colder, or the 
knowledge useless, that made us timeously acquainted with 
catastrophes like these ? In Aberdeen, the other week, an aged 
man was found dead in his garret, with every appearance of 
want and wretchedness ? How came it to be known ? Did 
the elder of the district discover it while on his round of 
Christian inquiry ? Did some benevolent ruler in a benevolent 
society miss his poor old neighbour? Weeks and weeks his 
tottering footsteps had not been seen on the pavement, or heard 
in his naked abode. He is dead — starved dead, — and the stench 
of his half-consumed body first gives notice, that " however 
man may act by man, Death is at his post." Oh, that some 
kind-hearted creature, with a turn for statistical computation, 
would lend me a hand ! It might be made clear, I think, that 
in a population of sixty thousand, one hundred could be spared 
(by regular changes) to hunt Misery to its very heels, and scare 
it, at least, from its more hideous feasts. Say that districts are 
divided into wards, each ward having its appointed inspector, 
whose duty it should be to observe earnestly, and report /a«VA- 
fulli/, all concerning the poverty-stricken residents in his 
charge. 

That the " Murder of Neglect" is perpetrated in this land 
is one terrible fact, and it is as true, though, alas I not so terri- 
fying, that he who is ignorant of it, or, knowing it, feels it only 
as an incident per course, bestowing upon it a fusionless shrug, 
and a " woes me," — that man has blood upon his head/ We are 
the children of one Father, travelling together on the broad and 
brief way to eternity. Alas I for such imequal equipment — see- 
ing we must at last pull up at the one same stage ! You will for- 
give me all this preaching, but my soul is in it, and last night 
I composed the following lines bearing that way. K you think 
these, or any sentiments here expressed, would, if made public, 
in any way move an additional feeling in favour of the " Over- 
gate Orphan," I would be proud and happy. 



112 THE OVEBGATE ORPHAN. 

'T IS the lone wail of woman, a mother's last woe, 
And tearless the eye when the soul weepeth so — 
Nor fuel nor food in yon windowless lair. 
The sleeping is watched by the dying one there. 

" Oh, wauken nae, wauken nae, my dowie dear ! 
My dead look would wither your wee heart wi' fear ; 
Sleep on till yon cauld moon is set in the sea. 
Gin mornin', hoo cauld will your wauk'nin' be ! 

" Ye creep to a breast, Jamie, cauld as the snaw. 
Ye hang roun' a heart, Jamie, sinkin' awa' ; 
I 'm laith, laith to leave ye, though fain would I dee 
Gin Heaven would lat my lost laddie wi' me !" 

Awaken, lone trembler, the moon has no light, 
And the grey glint of morning drives back the 

fell night ; 
Her last look is fixing in yon frozen tear — 
Awaken, lone trembler, thy home is not here ! 

The death-grasp awoke him — the struggle is o'er. 
He moans to the ear that will listen no more : 
" You 're caulder than me, mither, cauld though I be, 
And that look is nae like your ain look to me. 



Am.ovm. Gin, &y. Lat, fef . 

Cauld, cold. Gin, \f'. Nae, not. 

Caulder, colder. Hoo, how. Wauken, waken. 

Dee, d«€. Lair, dwelling. Wauk'nin' wakening, 

pome, stckly. Laith, loth. 



THE OVERGATE ORPHAN. 113 

" I dreamt how my father came back frae the deid, 
An' waesome an' eerie the looks that he gied ; 
He wyled ye awa' till ye sindered frae me — 
Oh, hap me, my mither, I 'm cauld — like to dee !" 

The creaking white coflGin is hurried away. 
The mourners all motley, and shrivelled, and gray ; 
Each meagre one muttering it over yon bier, — 
" So colder my home is — oh, God ! it were here ! " 



Deid, dead, Gied, gave. Sindered, separated. 

Eerie, toUd, Hap, cover. Wyled, cozened. 

Frae, from. Shrivelled, shrunken. 



114 



YTHANSEDE. 



1 HAD ae nichty and only ane, 

On flow'ry Ythanside, 
An' kith or kindred I hae nane 

That dwall by Ythanside ; 
Yet midnicht dream and morning vow 

At hame they winna bide, 
But pu', and pu' my willing heart 

Awa' to Ythanside. 

What gars ilk restless, wand'ring wish 

Seek aye to Ythanside, 
An' hover round yon fairy bush 

That spreads o'er Ythanside ? 
I think I see its pawkie boughs, 

Whaur lovers weel might hide ; 
An' oh ! what heart could safely sit 

Yon nicht at Ythanside ? 



Bide, ttay. Nicht, night, Weel, toell, 

Dwall, dwell, Pawkie, sly. Whaur, where* 

Gars, causeth, Pu', pull. Winna, toill not. 
Ilk, every. 



YTHANSIDE. 116 

Could I return and own the scaith 

I thole frae Ythanside, 
Would her mild e'e bend lythe on me 

Ance mair on Ythanside ? 
Or, would she crush my lowly love 

Beneath a brow o' pride ? 
I daurna claim, and maunna blame, 

Her heart on Ythanside. 

I '11 rue yon high and heathy seat* 

That hangs o'er Ythanside ; 
I '11 rue the mill whaur burnies meet ; 

I '11 rue ye, Ythanside. 

Ance, once. Frae,/r<w». Maunna, mtigt not, 

Daurna, dare not, Lythe, kindly. Scaith, hurt. 

E'e, eye, Mair, imyre. Thole, endure. 



* In the woods of Essilmont, there is a most romantic looking 
pinnacle overhanging the water Ythan. Nature has scooped in it a 
beautiful little gallery. There the late Miss Gordon, of Essilmont 
(an old castle, the seat of the Cheynes of Essilmont, was daily seen 
surrounded by the children of the neighbouring peasantry, teaching 
them all things needful to their situation in life — their duty to God 
and the world. 

Ythan rises in Forgue, out of Fondland Hill, from two springs ; is 
about 15 miles long, without reckoning its windings; and has six 
ferry boats; is deep and black, and hence dangerous. Yet it abounds 
with pearls, which, were they waited for till they became ripe, would 
turn to good account. Hence one of our poets (Hawthornden, in 
an epitaph on a nobleman buried here), addressing himself to this 
river in a melancholy strain, hath said, 

" Ythan! thy pearly coronet let fall.*' 

The top-pearl in the crown of Scotland, is reported to have been 
found in Kelly, a little brook that falls into Ythan in Methlick parish. 



116 YTHANSIDE. 

An' you, ye Moon, wi' luckless licht, 
Pour'd a' your gowden tide 

O'er sic a brow !— sic een, yon nicht ! — 
Oh, weary Ythanside ! 

Licht^ light. Sic, such. 



Sir Thomas Menzies of Cults having procured it — for beauty and big- 
ness, the best at any time found in Scotland, — and having found, by 
the judgment of the best jewellers in Edinburgh, that it was most 
precious, and of a very high value, went up to London and gifted 
it to the king, — this was in the year 1 620, — who, in retribution, gave 
him 12 or 14 chalders of victual about Dumfermlingf and the cus- 
tom of merchant-goods in Aberdeen during his life. 

In the reign of King Charles I., the trade was considered of suffi- 
cient moment to be worthy the attention of the Parliament The 
pearls of Scotland long shared with those of Bohemia the reputation 
of being the best found in Europe, though they were held to be very 
far inferior to those of the East. — [Description of the Diocese of 
Aberdeen, and Notes to it ; presented to the Spalding Club by the 
Earl of Aberdeen.] 



117 



A CHIEFTAIN UNKNOWN TO THE QUEEN. 

1843. 

AuLD Scotland cried " Welcome your Queen !" 
Ilk glen echoed " Welcome your Queen !" 

While turret and tower to mountain and moor, 
Cried " Wauken and welcome our Queen !" 

Syne, oh! sic deray was exprest, 
As Scotland for lang hadna seen ; 

When bodies cam bickerin' a' clad in their best- 
To beck to their bonnie young Queen. 

When a' kinds o' colours cam south, 

An' scarlet * frae sly Aberdeen : 
Ilk flutterin' heart flitted up to the mouth, 

A' pantin' to peep at our Queen. 

There were Earls on that glittering strand, 

Wi' diamonded Dame mony ane ; 
An' weel might it seem that the happiest land 

Was trod by the happiest Queen. 



A*, every. Beck, how. Sic, stich, 

Bickerin', a fighting Deray, noisy gladness. Syne, then, 
ran. Ilk, every. Wauken, awaken. 

• Scarlet is the town's livery. 



118 A CHIEFTAIN UNKNOWN TO THE QUEEN. 

Then mony a chieftain's heart 

Beat high 'neath its proud tartan screen ; 
But one sullen chief stood afar and apart, 

Nor recked he the smile o' a Queen. 

" Wha 's he winna blink on our Queen, 
Wi' his haflTets sae lyart and lean ?" 

O ho ! it is Want, wi' his gathering gaunt. 
An' his million of mourners unseen. 

Proud Scotland cried " Hide them ; oh, hide ! * 

An' lat nae them licht on her een ; 
Wi' their baimies bare, it would sorrow her sair ! 

For a mither's heart moves in our Queen." 

Bairnies, imfants, Licht, /a W. On her een, in her 

Blink, look, Lyart, haggard. sight. 

Haffets, cheeks. Sae, so. 



* The Paisley weavers formed a portion in the retinae of this 
sulky chief. At the very time Scotland, with its best foot foremost, 
was prancing before its beloved Sovereign, the street orange-sellers 
of Edinburgh were ordered "to bed" till the Queen left, by the 
same sage authorities that were snoring when the Queen came. So — 
so— behind the fairest painting you will find mere canvas — aye, 
canvas! 



119 



THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM. 



" Who hath woe ? Who hath sorrows ? They that tarry long at 

the wine.** 

PROYERBS xxiii. 29^ 30. 



Oh, tempt me not to the drunkard's draught, 
With its soul-consuming gleam ! 

Oh, hide me from the woes that waft 
Around the drunkard's dream ! 

When night in holy silence brings 

The God- willed hour of sleep, 
Then, then the red-eyed revel swings 

Its bowl of poison deep ! 

When morning waves its golden hair, 

And smiles o'er hill and lea, 
One sick'ning ray is doomed to glare 

On yon rude i'evelry ! 

The rocket's flary moment sped, 
Sinks black'ning back to earth ; 

Yet darker — deeper sinks his head 
Who shares the drunkard's mirth ! 



120 THE drunkard's DREAM. 

Know ye the sleep the drunkard knows ? 

That sleep, oh, who may tell ? 
Or who can speak the fiendful throes 

Of his self-heated hell ? 

The soul all reft of heav'nly mark — 

Defaced God's image there — 
Rolls down and down yon abyss dark. 

Thy howling home, Despair ! 

Or bedded his head on broken hearts, 

Where slimy reptiles creep ; 
And the ball-less eye of Death still darts 

Black fire on the drunkard's sleep ! 

And lo ! their coffin'd bosoms. rife. 

That bled in his ruin wild ! 
The cold, cold lips of his shrouded wife. 

Press lips of his shrouded child ! 

So fast — so deep the hold they keep ! 

Hark ! that unhallow'd scream ; 
Guard us, oh God ! from the drunkard's sleep— 

From the drunkard's demon-dream ! 



121 



CAN YE FORGET ? 



« My sight 
Is dim to see that charactered in yaia 
On this unfeeling leaf, which barns the brain 
And eats into it, blotting all things fair 
And wise and good, which time had written there." 

Shbllby. 



Can ye forget yon sunny day 

Whan sparkling Ury murmured by ? 
Whaur birdies in their blythest way 

Poured April sangs athwart the sky ? 
How little, little then kent I 

Sae fause the lip that prest to mine ; 
Oh ! wha could think yon fever'd sigh 

Cam frae a breast sae cauld as thine ? 

But weel mind I as o'er my head 
A wee, wee lanesome birdie sang ; 

Sae waesome did its music plead, 
I scarce could hide the tear it brang. 



Blytlxeit, gladdett Fauae, false. WtLeBomeftnountfulli/. 

Brang, brought* Kent, knew* Wee, little* 

Cauld, cold, Sae, 90, Weel, wett. 



122 



CAN YE FORGET? 



My heart inaist frae my bosom sprang. 
Syne trembling sank wi' bodefu' knell. 

For, oh ! I feared that I ere lang 
Micht maen in siclike lonely wail. 

Sinsyne I Ve kent cauld gloamin' come. 

Whan blae and wae the Ury ran ; 
Whan cow'rin' birds a' nestled dumb, 

An' cheerless nicht lower'd o'er the lawn. 
Sic time my bursting bosom faun' 

The slack'ning gush that nane micht see ; 
And aye the licht's unlo'esome dawn 

Brang life an' love to a' but me ! 



I had nae hinnied words to woo, 

Nae gainfu' gifts had I to spare ; 
But, oh ! I had a heart sae true. 

That nocht could shift, that nane shonld share. 
Ae trembling wish alane lived there — 

Ae hope that held the witless way ; 
That hope is gane, an' evermair 

Left darkness owre life's dowie day. 



I 



Ae, one, 
Blae, blue. 
Brang, brought. 
Cauld, cold. 
Dowie, gloomy, 
F&nn\ found. 
Fr&e J from. 
Gloamin', tioilight. 



Hinnied, honeyed. 
Kent, knoum. 
Maen, moan. 
Maist, almost. 
Micht, might. 
Nae, no. 
Nane, nane. 



Nicht, night. 
Nocht, nougJit. 
Sic, at that. 
Siclike, ^ame. 
Sinsyne, since then. 
Syne, then. 
Wae, moun\fully. 



123 



THE LASS O' KINTORE. 



Air — " Oh, as I was kiss'd yestreen !" 



At haine or afield I am cheerless an' lone, 
I 'm dull on the Ury an' droop by the Don ; 
Their murmur is noisy an' fashions to hear. 
An' the lay o' the lintie fa's deid on my ear. 
I hide frae the moon, and whaur naebody sees, 
I greet to the burnie an' sich to the breeze ; 
Tho' I sich till I 'm silly, an' greet till I dee, 
Kintore is the spot in this world for me. 

But the lass o' Kintore, oh, the lass o' Kintore ! 

Be warned awa' frae the lass o' Kintore ; 

There's a love-luring look that I ne'er kent afore. 

Steals cannily hame to the heart at Kintore. 



Afore, before, Fashious, annoying, Lintie, linnet, 

Awa', away, Frae, from, Naebody, nobody. 

Dee, die. Greet, weep, Sich, sigh. 

Deid, dead, Kent, knew, Whaur, where, 

Q 2 



124 THE LASS O' KINTORE. 

They bid me forget her— oh ! how can it be ? 

In kindness or scorn she 's ever wi' me ; 

I feel her fell frown in the lift's frosty blue, 

An I weel ken her smile in the lily's saft hue. 

I try to forget her, but canna forget — 

I 've liket her lang, an' I aye like her yet ; 

My poor heart may wither — may waste to its core. 

But forget her ? oh, never ! the lass o' Kintore ! 

Oh, the woods o' Kintore! the holmes o' Kintore ! 

The love-lichtin' e'e that I ken at Kintore ; 

I '11 wander afar, an' I '11 never look more 

On the dark glance o' Peggy or bonnie Kintore ! 



Canna, cannot. Lift, firmament, Saft, sqft. 

E'e, eye. Love-lichtin*, love- Wed, toelL 

Ken, know. kindling. 



125 



DID THEY MEET AGAIN ? 

Aw A* ye weary licht, 

Nae moon nor starnie bricht ; 

Oh ! for thy midwatch nicht 

An' ray less hour ; 
Whan I may gang alane, 
Unmarked by mortal een, 
An' meet my bosom queen 

In her murky bower. 

I ken she 's waitin' there — 
She 's faithfu' as she 's fan* — 
I '11 twme her raven hair 

Roun' her snawie brow ; 
An' vow by earth an' sea, 
Hoo dear she 's been to me, 
An' thou lone Benachie 

Maun hear that vow. 



Alane, alone. Hoo, Tiaw. Maun, must, 

Bricht, bright. Ken, know. Murky, dark, 

Een, eyes, Licht, light. Nicht, night. 
Qang, go. 



126 DID THEY MEET AGAIN? 

We loved — alas ! sae leal ! 
But this sad nicht maun seal 
The lang — the last fareweel 

'Tween her an' me. 
Whaure'er my .fate may guide, 
Or weel or wae betide, 
I '11 mind wha dwalls beside 

Dark Benachie. 



Dwalls, dwells, Nicht, night, Wha, loJio, 

Leal, truly. Sae, so. Whaure'er, wherever. 

Maun, must. 



127 



THE LASS WT THE WANDERIN' E'E. 



" Oh ! wha that sang yon sang to me, 

That I can ne'er forget ? 
Wha is 't that aucht yon lo'esome e'e ? 

Sae weel 's I see it yet ! 
An' cam she frae the far, far east, 

The lass wi' the wanderin' e'e ; 
The heart lay tremblin' in my breast 

To the sang she sung to me ! 

" Hand doiin sic hope ye fond, fond man, 

For loveless is her strain ; 
She feasts on hearts aroun' her fa'in. 

Yet scaithless keeps her ain. 
She laughs to ken the bleed-drap fa'. 

An' gladdens at ilka woun' ; 
Oh, turn your wishfu' heart awa'. 

There 's wae in yon sweet soun' ! 



Ain, own. 
Aucht, oions, 
Awa', away. 
Cam, came, 
Doun, dovm, 
Fa',/o??. 



Fsi* in, falling, 
¥ me, from, 
Haud, Jiold, 
Ilka, every. 
Ken, know. 



Sae, so, 

Scaithless, unhurt. 
Sic, such, 
Wae, woe, 
Weel, well. 



128 THE liABQ Wl' THE WANDERIN' e'e. 

" I maunna mind what may betide — 

Oh ! send that maid to me, 
An' place her near this beating side, 

Sae like to gar me dee ; 
For I would feast on her fair look 

An' lavish on her sang ; — 
Her dark e'e is a holy book 

In whilk I read nae wrang." 



Gar, make, Nae, no» Whilk, tokieh, 

Maunna, must not, Sae, so, Wrang, wrong. 



129 



MT HEATHEB LAND. 



ti 



Air—" The Highland Watch. 



My heather land, my heather land ! 

My dearest pray'r be thine ; 
Altho' upon thy hapless heath, 

There breathes nae friend o' mine. 
The lanely few that Heaven has spar'd 

Fend on a foreign strand ; 
And I maun wait to weep wi' thee, 

My hameless heather land ! 

My heather land, my heather land ! 

Though fairer lands there be. 
Thy gow'nie braes in early days. 

Were gowden ways to me. 
Maun life's poor boon gae darkening doun. 

Nor die whaur it had dawn'd, 
But claught a grave ayont the wave ? 

Alas ! my heather land ! 



Ayont, beyond. Doun, dotvn, Gow*nie, darned. 

BmeBf knolls, Fend, struggle for sub- Maun, mi<^. 

Claught, catch, sistence, Whaur, where. 

o5 



130 MY HEATHER LAND. 

My heather land, my heather land ! 

Though chilling Winter pours 
His freezing breath roun' fireless hearth, 

Whaur breadless misery cow'rs ; 
Yet breaks the light that soon shall blight 

The godless reivin' hand — 
Whan withered tyranny shall reel 

Frae our rous'd heather land ! 

Reivin*, despoiling. 




131 



MY HAMELESS HA'. 



Oh ! how can I be cheerie in this hameless ha' ? 
The very sun glints eerie on the gilded wa' ; 
An' aye the nicht sae drearie, 

Ere the dowie mom daw, 
Whan I canna win to see you 
My Jamie ava. 

Tho' monie miles between us, an' far, far frae me, 
The bush that wont to screen us frae the cauld warl's 



ee, 



Its leaves may waste and wither, 
But its branches winna fa' ; 

An' hearts may baud thegither, 
Tho' frien's drap awa'. 



Ava, at all. 
Awa', away, 
Canna, cannot. 
Cauld, cold. 
Daw, dawn. 
Dowie, gloomy. 



Drap, /a W. 
Eerie, sadly. 
TsL*,fall. 
Glints, shines. 
Ha', hall. 
Hand, Jiold. 



Monie, many. 
Thegitiier, together, 
Wa', wall. 
Warl*, toorld. 
Win, get. 
Winna, will not. 



132 MT HAMELESS HA'. 

Ye promis*d to speak o' me to the lanesome moon. 
An' weird kind wishes to me, in the lark's saft soun*; 
I doat upon that moon, 

Till my very heart filk fu'; 
An' aye yon birdie's tune 
Gars me greet for you. 

Then how can I be cheerie in the stranger's ha' ? 
A gowden prison drearie, my luckless fa' ! 
'Tween leavin* o' you Jamie, 

An' ills that sorrow me, 
I 'm wearie o' the warl' 
An' carena though I dee. 



Carena, care not. Gars, mdket, Soun', sound. 

Dee, die. Greet, toeep, Wari*, world. 

Vo.\faU,fa;te, Lanesome, lonesome. Weird, toaft, 

¥u\full, Sa£t, soft. 




133 



EXTRACT FROM 
A LETTER TO J. ROBERTSON, ESQ. 

London^ June^ 1843. 
" Instantly on receipt of yours, expressing a wish to see 
some of my pieces, I made search and recovered copies of a few 
which had been printed by friends for private circulation. En- 
closed is one piece written about two years ago, my wife lately 
before having died in childbed. At the time of her decease, 
although our dwelling was at Inverury, my place of employ- 
ment was in a village nine miles distant, whence I came once a 
fortnight, to enjoy the ineffable couthieness that swims around 
* ane's ain fireside,' and is nowhere else to be found. For 
many months, in that we knew comfort and happiness — our 
daughter Betsy, about ten years of age, was in country service; 
two boys, younger still, kept at home with their mother. The 
last Sabbath we ever met, Jean spoke calmly and earnestly of 
matters connected with our little home and family — bade me 
remain a day or two with them yet, as she felt a foreboding 
that the approaching event would be too much for her en- 
feebled constitution. It was so. She died two dajrs thereafter. 
On returning from the kirkyard, I shut up our desolate dwell- 
ing, and never more owned it as a home. We were but as 
strangers in the village, so the elder boy and I put over that 
night in a common tramp house. A neighbour undertook to 
keep the other little fellow, but he, somehow, slipped away 
unobserved, and was found fast asleep at the door of our tenant- 
less home. Next morning, having secured a boarding-house 
for him (the youngest), I took the road to resume labour at 
the usual place — poor, soft-hearted Willie by my side — a trifle 
of sad thinking within, and the dowie mists of Benachie right 
before me. We travelled off our road some miles to the glen 



134 LETTER TO MR. ROBERTSON. 

where Betsy was ' herdin'.'* Poor Bet knew nothing of what 
had happened at Inverury. Her mother had visited her three 
weeks before — ^had promised to return with some wearables, 
for winter was setting in fast and bitterly. The day and very 
hour we approached her bleak residence, that was their trysted 
time. She saw us as we stood on the knowe hesitating — ran 
towards us — * Oh ! whaur is my mither ? foo is nae she here ? 
Speak, father! speak, Willie!' Poetry, indeed! Poetry, I 
fear, has little to do with moments like these. Oh, no ! When 
the bewildering gush has passed away, and a kind of grey light 
has settled on the ruin, one may then number the drops as they 
fall, but the cisterns of sorrow echo not when full — ^hence my 
idealized address to Willie was written long after the event that 
gave it existence. With feelings more tranquil, and condition 
every way better, it came thus : — " 

The ae dark spot in this loveless world, 

That spot maun ever be, Willie, 

Whaur she sat an' dauted your bonnie brown hair. 

An' lithely looket to me, Willie ; 

An' oh ! my heart owned a' the power 

Of your mither's gifted e'e, Willie. 

There 's now nae blink at our slaeken'd hearth, 
Nor kindred breathing there, Willie ; 
But cauld and still our hame of Death, 
Wi' its darkness evermair, Willie ; 
For she wha lived in our love, is cauld, 
An' her grave the stranger's lair, Willie. 

Ae, one, Hame, fiome, Nae, no. 

Cauld, cold. Lair, interment. Wha, w?io. 

Dauted, patted. Lithely, warmly, Whaur, where. 

Evermair, evermore. Maun, must. 



* Herdin'— tending cows. 



LETTER TO MR. ROBERTSON. 135 

tkThe sleepless nicht, the dowie dawn, 
A' stormy though it be, Willie, 
Ye '11 buckle ye in your weet wee plaid, 
An' wander awa' wi' me, Willie ; 
Your lanesome sister little kens 
Sic tidings we hae to gie, Willie. 

The promised day, the trysted hour. 
She '11 strain her watchfu' e'e, Willie ; 
Seeking that mither's look of love. 
She never again maun see, Willie ; 
Kiss ye the tear frae her whitening cheek. 
An' speak awhile for me, Willie. 

Look kindly, kindly when ye meet. 
But speak nae of the dead, Willie ; 
An' when your heart would gar you greet. 
Aye turn awa' your head, Willie ; 
That waesome look ye look to me 
Would gar her young heart bleed, Willie. 

Whana'er she names a mither's name^ ^ 
An' sairly presseth thee, Willie, 
Oh ! tell her of a happy hame 
Far, far o'er earth an' sea, Willie ; 
An' ane that waits to welcome them. 
Her hameless bairns, an' me, Willie. 



Ane, one. Gie, give. 

Bairns, irifants. Greet, weep. 

Buckle ye, wrap your- Hae, have, 
self. Kens, knowt 

Cinr. mn.kfi. NflP. tint. 



Nicht, night, 
Sairly, sorely. 



Buckle ye, wrap your- Hae, have. Sic, such. 

self. Kens, knows, Trysted, appointed. 

Gar, make. Nae, not, Weet, drenched. 



136 LETTER TO MR. ROBERTSON. 

** I shall just mention another incident, though, in point ofli 
order, it should have been told before. After many months of 
hopeless wanderings, my family and I at length found a settled 
home at Inverury. Comparative rest and warmth succeeding 
to watchful misery, we were, one and all, afflicted with dis- 
health. Willie, especially, suffered long, and at last had to 
be conveyed to the Aberdeen infirmary. There he had to 
undergo a serious operation. I knew his timid nature, and 
went thither to sustain and comfort him through that severe 
trial. The operation took place a day earlier than that men- 
tioned to me, so it was over ere I arrived. I found him asleep 
in his little chamber, and the feelings of that moment are par- 
tially embodied in the following lines : — ^" 

'' Hospital charities for devastated homes ! Faugh ! Qi¥e me my 
wages; have I not laboured?" 

Wake ye, sleep ye, my hapless boy, 

In this homeless house of care ? 
Lack ye the warmth of a mother's eye 

On thy cauldrife, lonely lair ? 

Dost thou clasp in thy dream a brother's hand, 

Yet waken thee all alone ? 
Thy deep dark eye, does it open unblest ? 

Nor father ? — nor sister ? None ! 

Thy father's board is too narrow my child, 

For ills like thine to be there ; 
The comfortless hearth of thy parent is cold, 

And his light but the light of despair. 



Cauldrife, cheerless. Lair, bed. 



LETTER TO MR. ROBERTSON. 137 

. Has God disown'd them, the children of toil ? 
Is the promise of Heaven no more ? 
Shall Industry weep? — shall thepamper'd suppress 
The sweat-earned bread of the poor ? 

Alas ! and the wind as it blew and blew 
On the famished and houseless then, 

Has blighted the bud of my heart's best hope. 
And it never may blossom again. 

Who are they that beat about in the ^ubstanceless regions of 
fancy for material to move a tear ? Who but the silken bandaged 
sons of comfort ?— ink-bleeders whose sorrows are stereotyped — they 
who see life only through the hazy medium of theory, and do at 
farthest obtain but a mellow blink of those sickening realities that 
settle around the poor man's hearth. 



138 



DREAMINGS OF THE BEREAVED. 

The morning breaks bonnie o'er mountain an' stream, 
An' troubles the hallowed breath o' my dream ! 
The gowd light of morning is sweet to the e'e. 
But, ghost-gathering midnight, thou'rt dearer to me. 
The dull common world then sinks from my sight. 
An' fairer creations arise to the night ; 
When drowsy oppression has sleep-sealed my e'e. 
Then bright are the visions awaken'd to me ! 

Oh ! come, spirit mother, discourse of the hours. 
My young bosom beat all its beating to yours. 
When heart-woven wishes in soft counsel fell. 
On ears — how unheedful prov'd sorrow might tell ! 
That deathless affection — nae trial could break. 
When a' else forsook me ye wouldna forsake. 
Then come, oh ! my mother, come often to me. 
An' soon an' for ever I '11 come unto thee ! 

An' thou shrouded loveliness! soul- winning Jean, 
How cold was thy hand on my bosom yestreen ! 

Yestreen, last night. 



DREAMINGS OP THE BEREAVED. 139 

'T was kind — for the lowe that your e'e kindled there, 
Will bum aye, an' burn, till that breast Ueat nae 

mair. 
Our bairnies sleep round me, oh ! bless ye their sleep, 
Your ain dark-e'ed Willie will wauken an' weep ; 
But blythe in his weepin' he'll tell me how you. 
His heaven-hamed mammie, was " dautin' his brow."* 

Tho' dark be our dwallin' — our happin' tho' bare, 
An' night closes round us in cauldness an' care ; 
Affection will warn us — an' bright are the beams 
That halo our hame in yon dear land of dreams. 
Then weel may I welcome the night's deathy reign, 
Wi' souls of the dearest I mingle me then. 
The gowd light of morning is lightless to me. 
But, oh, for the night wi' its ghost revelrie ! 

Bairnies, children, Happin*, covering. 

Gowd, gold, Heaven-hamed, whose home is in heaven. 

Lowe, flame, 

* Patting his forehead. 



140 



THE MITHERLESS BAIRN. 

When a' itlier bairnies are hushed to their hame. 
By aunty, or cousin, or freeky grand-dame ; 
Wha Stan's last an' lanely, an' naebody carin' ? 
'T is the puir doited loonie — the mitherless bairn ! 

The mitherless bairn gangs till his lane bed, 
Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare head ; 
His wee,* hackit heelies are hard as the aim. 
An' litheless the lair o' the mitherless bairn ! 

Aneath his cauld brow, siccan dreams tremble there, 
O' hands that wont kindly to kame his dark hair ! 
But mornin' brings clutches, a' reckless an' stem. 
That lo'e nae the locks o' the mitherless bairn ! 

Aim, iron. Haps, covers, Loonie, boy. 

Aneath, beneath. Heelies, heels, Nane, none, 

Bairnies, children, Ither, other, Puir, poor. 

Cauld, cold. Kame, comb. Siccan, such. 

Doited, confused. Lair, dwelling. Till, to. 

Freeky, coaxing, Litlieless, comfortless. Wee, little. 

Gangs, goes, Lo'e nae, love not. Wont, wereaccustmned, 

Hackit, chapped. 

* In hardy Scotland, it is not always a sure sign of poverty in ltd 
sons and daughters that they are to be seen tripping it bare-footed 
from April till Christmas. It is choice; but when necessity carries 
the matter a little farther into the winter, the feet break up in gashes, 
or *^ hacks;'' hence hackit heelies. 



THE MITHERLESS BAIRN. 141 

Yon sister, that sang o'er his saftly-rocked bed, 
Now rests in the mools whaur her mammie is laid ; 
The father toils sair their wee bannock to earn, 
An' kens nae the wrangs o' his mitherless bairn ! 

Her spirit, that pass'd in yon hour o' his birth. 
Still watches his wearisome wand'rings on earth, 
Recordmg in heaven the blessings they earn, 
Wha couthilie deal wi' the mitherless bairn ! 

Oh ! speak him nae harshly — ^he trembles the while — 
He bends to your bidding, and blesses your smile ! 
In their dark hour o' anguish, the heartless shall 

learn 
That God deals the blow for the mitherless bairn ! 



Couthilie, kindly, Nae, not. Wee bannock, a little 

Kens, knows. Sair, sore. bread. 

Mools, mould. Sang, sung. 



Ii2 



THE WEDDED WATERS. 
Air—'' Kind Bobin loa me.** 

Gadie wi' its waters fleet, 
Ury wi' its munnnr sweet. 
They hae trysted aye to meet 

Among the woods o' Logie. 
Like bride an' bridegroom happy they. 
Wooing smiles firae bank an' brae. 
Their wedded waters wind an' play 

Round leafy bowers at Logie. 

O'er brashy linn, o'er meadow fine. 

They never sinder, never tyne, 

An' oh ! I thought sic meetings mine, 

Yon happy hours at Logie ! 
But Fortune's cauld an' changefu' e'e, 
Gloomed bitterly on mine an' me, 
I looket syne, but cou'dna see 

My sworn love at Logie. 

Now lowly, lanely, I may rue 
The guilefu' look, the guilefu' vow. 
That fled as flees the feckless dew 

Frae withered leaves at Logie. 

Brashy, nigged, Frae, /row. Sic, svAih. 

Cauld, coliU Hae, have, Sinder, separate. 

Feckless, fvebU, Lanely, lonely. Syne, then, 

Vlwit flics, Linn, xoaterfall. T^ne, lose each other. 



THE WEDDEP WATERS. 143 

Bat Gadie wi* its torrents keen,* 
An' Ury wi' its braes sae green, 
They a' can tell how true I 've been 
To my lost love in Logie. 



* It is on this stream, which, rising in the parish of Clatt, after 
a course of some miles, runs into the Ury, the following beautiful 
song was long ago written, and is well known to all the country : — 

" I wish I were whar Gadie rins, 
'Mang fragrant heath and yellow whins, 
Or brawlin' doun the boskie lins. 

At the back o' Bein-na-chie ! 
Ance mair to hear the wild hirds' sang; 
To wander birks and braes amang, 
Wi' frien's an' &v'rites left so lang 

At the hack o' Bein-na-chie. 

How mony a day in blythe spring time. 
How mony a day in summer's prime, 
I've saunterin* whiled awa* the time. 

On the heights o' Bein-na-chie ! 
Ah ! fortune's flowers wi' thorns grow rife. 
And walth is won wi' toil and strife ; 
Ae day gie me o* youthfu* life 

At the back o' Bein-na-chie. 

Ah ! Mary, there on ilka night. 

When balth our hearts were young an' light. 

We 've wandered by the clear moonlight, 

Wi' speech baith fond and free. 
Oh ! ance, ance mair,'whar Gadie rins, 
Whar Gadie rins ! whar Gadie rins ! 
Oh ! might I die whar Gadie rins. 

At the back o' Bein-na-chie !" 



' ' 



1:1 



144 



« OH, THAT MY LOVE WAS SO EASILY WON ! 



♦«! 



" Oh, that my love was so easily won !" 
Whaur nae love word was spoken ; 

Unsought — unwoo'd, my heart had flown — 
I canna hide, I daurna own 
How that poor heart is broken. 

" Oh, that my love was so easily won ! " 
The gay an' the gallant hae woo'd me ; 

But he— oh, he never sought to share 
The envied smile, yet mair an' mair 
Yon wordless look subdued me. 



Canna, cannot, 
Daurna, dare not, 
Hae, haw. 



Mair an' mair, more Nae, no, 
and more, Whaur, where. 



* The hurden line of a very old song, of which the two following 
lines are from the wearied lover, who says— 

" 1 11 buy an auld horse, and I 'U hire an auld man. 
And hurl ye back to Northumberlan'." 






(( 



OH, THAT MY LOVE WAS SO EASILY WON !" 146 



« 



Oh, that my Love was so easily won !" 
Oh, that my life would restore him ! 

He lightlied the love of our pridefu' clan — 
My dreams are fu' o' yon friendless man, 
But the wrath o' my kindred hangs o'er him. 



" Oh, that my Love was so easily won !" 
My kin will ye never forgie me ? 
I Ve gi'en my heart to a hameless man, 
But I '11 wander far frae this friendless Ian*, 
An' it never mair shall see me. 



¥orgief f or ffive> Lightlied, held cheap, Mair, more, 

QVen, given. 



H 



146 



SECOND LOVE. 



*' The breast that has felt love justly shrinks from the idea of its 
total extinction as from annihilation itself.' 



'» 



Oh, say not Love will never 

Breathe in that breast again ! 
That where he bled must ever 

All pleasureless remain. 
Shall tempest-riven blossom, 

When fair leaves fall away, 
In coldness close its bosom 

'Gainst beams of milder day ? 
Oh never, nay ! 

It blooms where'er it may. 

Though ruthless tempest tear — 

Though biting frosts subdue. 
And leave no tendril where 

Love's pretty flow'rets grew ; 
The SOU all ravaged so 

Will nurture more and more. 
And stately roses blow 

Where daisies droop'd before ; 
Then why, oh ! why 

Should sweet love ever die ? 



147 



ADDRESS TO THE DON.* 



" Will it feir up do you think V " Aye will 't yet." 

Gossip. 

'^ The deil and Don came down that day, 
Wi' a' their Highland fury; 
An' vowed to ' bear the Bass away,' 
Frae bonnie tremblin' Ury." 



Dark Don, thy water's rude repulsive scowl 

And frothy margin, all too well bespeak 

The upland ravages, the conflict bleak 

Of mountain winter ; and the maddened howl 

Of bruiting elements, distraught and foul, 

Have rufiled thy fair course and chok'd thy braes. 



* Don rises in Strathdon and receives (besides other small rivers) 
Nochty, from Invemochtyj Bucket, from Glenbucket; and Ury 
from Inverury parishes. It falls into the sea at Old Aberdeen, where 
it has a fair bridge of one arch, built four ages ago, about a.d. 1320, 
by king Robert Bruce, while this see was vacant by the flight of 
Bishop Cfaeyne — the bridge of Balgownie, celebrated by Lord Byron's 

H 2 



148 ADDRESS TO THE DON. 

Love flies affrightened at thy swollen look ; 
The laverock may not hear its own sweet lays 
O'er thy fierce chafings, and the timid brook 
Sinks tremblingly amid thy surfy maze, 
Thou cold remembrancer of wilder human ways ! 
So soiled the social tide by some curst deed 
Of ancient ruffian or fool — so ages read 
To weeping worlds of hearts that bled. 
Of patriots and sages that have died 
Ere that broad stream was half repurified. 
Roll thy dark waters, Don — we yet shall see 
On thy bright bosom the fair symmetry 
Of vaulted heaven, when the shrill lark pours 
Voluptuous melody to listening flowers, 
And all of man, of earth, and air shall feel 
What hate and darkness hurteth, love and light can 
heal! 



reminiscences. The length of the river Don from above the kirk of 
Alford is twenty miles, and twenty-four miles from the said kirk to 
the bridge of Balgownie where Don discharges his streams in the 
German Ocean close by Old Aberdeen. 

The mountain Bennachle, rising with seven tops, on the south is pre- 
cipitous and rocky, and is a sea mark. The river Ury rising in a low 
hill, not far from the Castle of Gartly, passing through a sterile 
valley, whence it struggles through the narrows of the hills, coming 
down upon the plain which it divides unequally, with its twisting 
channel, falls into the Don at the little town of Inverury. At the 
foot and along the whole length of Bennachie, the small stream of 
the Gadie falls into the Ury a little above the same town.^- [Robert 
Gordon, of Straloch— Description of Sheriffdoms of Aberdeen and 
Panff, 1664.1 



ADDRESS TO THE DON. 149 

For who so dull that may not now behold 

Yon cloud-repeUing light, yon moral ray 

Piercing the night-born mist, the murky fold. 

That erst obscured the intellectual day ? 

God breathes again in man — those melt, for aye, 

Preparing, purifying to the sacred birth 

Of virtues hitherto undared on earth. 



150 






WHISPER LOW. 



Slowly, slowly the cauld moon creeps 

Wi' a licht unlo'esome to see; 
It dwalls on the window whaur my love sleeps. 
An' she winna wauken to me. 

Wearie, wearie the hours, and slow, 
Wauken, my lovie, an' whisper low ! 

There 's nae ae sang in heaven's hicht, 

Nor on the green earth doun, 
Like soun's that kind love kens at nicht. 
When whispers hap the soun' ; 

Hearin' — fearin' — sichin' so — 
Whisper, my bonnie lovie, whisper low ! 

They lack nae licht wha weel can speak 

In love's ain wordless wile ; 
Her ee-bree creepin' on my cheek 
Betrays her pawkie smile ; 

Happy — happy — silent so — 
Breathin'— bonnie lovie, whisper low ! 

Ee-bree, eye-brow, Pawkie, sly. 



WHISPER LOW. 161 

Was yon a waft o' her wee white han', 

Wi' a warnin' " wheesht" to me? 
Or was it a gleam o' that fause moon fa'in' 
On my puir misguided e'e ? 

Wearie — wearie — wearie O — 
Wauken, my lovie, an' whisper low ! 

VtLuae, false. Wauken, todken. 



152 



GLAMOURIE ; OR^ MESMERISM AS WE HAVE IT 

AT mVERURY. 



AiB— " Aikeo Drum." 



A CARLiE cam' to oar toun. 
An' bade our drumster rair an' soun'. 
Till a' the fouk ran rinnin' doun 
T* see fat they could see. 

Fat think ye o' the carlie. 
The glowrin' fykin' carlie. 
The fell auld-fashion'd carlie, 
Wi' a' his glamourie ? 

Some cam' wi' faith, some cam' wi' fear. 
An' monie cam' frae far an' near, 
Wi' nae a few that cam' to sneer. 
An' oh, they lookit slee ! 



Carlie, little old man. Fell, dangerou$, GlowTin% 9tming; 

Drumster, t<non drum' Foakf folks. Rinnin^, running • 

mer* Fykin , troublesome, Slee, sly, 

Rair, roar, Glamourie, magic. 



GLAMOURIE. 153 

Ab' bureght roun' the carlie, 
An' wonnert at the carlie, 
An' cried " Fa are ye carlie ? 

An' fat a' can ye dee?" 

He took my auntie by the thumb. 
An' grippet aye my auntie's thumb, 
An' aye he squeez'd my auntie's thumb. 
An' glowr'd intill her e'e. 

Out fie the fu'some carlie ! 

The ill contrivin' carlie ! 

He fumm'lt aye ahint her lug, 

An' ca'ed her " Miss-Meree !** 

He faun' ayont the tailor's tap, 
An' cam', gweed life ! on sic a knap ! 
His Meggy's heart it flew an' lap. 
For weel I wot kent she. 

But aye the rubbin' carlie. 
He blew an' blastit sairly. 
Till legs an' armies fairly ' 

Stood stark like ony tree ! 



Ahint, behind, Faun\felt, Lap, leaped. 

An* fat a* can ye dee ? Fumm'lt , felt. Lug, ear, 

and, what all can Fu'some, mischievous* Miss-Meree, nitsmery, 

you do ? GlowrM, looked. Rubbin*, making passes. 

Ayont, behind. Grippet at, seized hold Sic a knap, such a 

Bureght roun', ga- of. bump, 

thered close round. Intill, tn^o. Tap, ftcarf. 

E'e, eye. Kent, kneio. Wonnert, wondered. 

Fa*, who, 

H 5 



154 GLAMOURIE. 

Ye Debtors deft, — ye Gravers keen,* 
Ye Lovers, too, wha roam alane, 
Ne'er look ower lang in ither's een. 
In case o' what might be ! 

For gin ye meet a carlie, 
A keekin' cunnin' carlie. 
Ye yet may rue richt sairly 

The glamour o' his e'e. 

Gravers, duyit. We, eye. Glamour, magic. 

Deft, hard up. Gin, if. Keekin', inquisitive. 



* A story was current at Inverury that a creditor (craver) had been 
mesmerized, and left asleep by his " debtor deft" 




165 



SCHOOL OF INDUSTRY. 



[A School of Industry exists in the city of Aberdeen, in which 
destitute orphans, and the children of poyerty-stricken parents, 
are gathered together from the haunts of misery and yice, and 
put in the way of earning an honest livelihood. Here let 
curiosity, if not kindness, plead for one visit. If they will 
not heed yon grim old house, and the helpless outcasts there, 
then are we not accountable in whole for the impiety of 
wishing that this luckless^ school had, even at the risk of in- 
dwelling cormorants, some share in the beef and boilings 
attached to other nests. But, alas 1 no droppings here. Here 
the cook — ^honest woman ! — may lick her fingers as innocently 
as if she licked a milestone. Nothing in that meagre building 
to attract an itchy palm — no elegance therein to reward the 
soft eye of tuste (?)— nor atone for prunella spoiled ; so, hap- 
pily, neither come. Yet, oh ! there is something there will one 
day speak in words of fire ; and when that voice goes forth, 
happy are they and blessed who have looked in sorrowing kind- 
ness on yon shreds of bruised humanity ! 



'* There is hope in heaven— on earth despair. 



if 



One thinks it is written on the door, and speaking through each 
window — so chilly and forlorn looks our School of Industry ! 
Yet those cold grey granite walls hold an hundred almost sin- 
less hearts in safety. These, but the other day, were gathered 
from your lanes and entries — from perdition to peace. There 



156 monitor's song. 

they are — ^look on them ; a fountain amidst a desert of souls — 
a redemption on earth — ^the rescued — ^the snatchings ^rom the 
kingdom of darkness. Yes ; there is a treasure therein will 
yet speak salvation to the godly minds that placed it there. Ye 
that care hut for the hour that passes, look to your safety — ye 
heedlessly happy ! Know ye not that, in turning the human 
impulses from a vrrong to a right direction, ye are adding to 
your other sweets the sweet of security ; and, hy lessening tie 
number of thieves, ye may eat your crowning custard in calm- 
ness, and lessen the chances of losing your dear " three courses.** 
Go to yon grim residence of forsaken humanity; look care- 
fully at these sharplike little fellows, and think of your own 
safety. They came not to your world unbidden, and they will 
live. Look at them again — fine, rude, raw material there, 
ready to be manufactured for better, for worse. Think of the 
thing in an economical posture. In these hundred boys, as they 
are being trained, you have an equivalent for a thousand patent 
locks, forty policemen, four gaols, two transports, and one hang- 
man. Look on these lads again — then turn to that little box, 
if you have a sigh and a sixpence about you — God bless you, 
leave the sixpence at any rate! There comes the mcmitor, 
leading in two ragged little strangers — brothers they seem. 
That look of the elder boy searches for oi^'s heart, and should 
find it too, as his lustrous blue eye fills over his only " kin" — ^his 
little brother — already gladdening under the strange comfort 
of shelter. You gave the sixpence ? Well, if the monitor^s 
song please you, give the sigh, too, and " Haste ye back."] 



MONITOR'S SONG. 

Air — " Prince Charlie's farewell to Skye.'* 

Come Brither bairnies, wan and worn, 
And hide ye here frae cauld and scorn ; 
The blast that tears your weary morn 
May fan your warmer day, boys. 




monitor's song. 157 

We work and wish, and sich and sing, 
And bless the couthie hearts that bring 
Ae smile to soothe our surly spring ; 
We '11 a' be men when we may, boys ! 

Your Mither sank before the lave — 
Your Father, Sister, sought a grave; 
And ye, wee bodies, were left to crave 
A warl's cauldrife care, boys ! 

But now ye '11 work, and hope, and sing. 
Nor needfu' fear how fate may fling ; 
The Honey may come ahint the Sting, 
And Heaven will send your share, boys! 

Oh ! were the heartless here to see 
The wrestling tear that fills your e'e, 
Your wee, wee Brith'rie, daft wi' glee, 
Wi' breast and armies bare, boys ! 

But aft unkent we greet and sing, 
And ply the warp and netting string ; 
Oh ! wha would slight that holy thing. 
An orphan's trembling prayer, boys ? 



Ae, (me. Lave, the rest, the Unkent, uyiknovm, 

Couthie, Hnd, loving* others. Wee brith'rie, little 

Greet, weep, Sich, sigh, brother. 



158 monitor's song. 

A hundred hearts are heaving here. 
That leap to gladness, grief, and fear ; 
And weel bless they the lips that spier 
How orphans fend and fare, boys ! 

Oh ! blithely work and blithely sing — 
There 's nane can tell what Time may bring, 
Sae freckrd the feathers that mark his wing. 
So changefu' evermair, boys ! 



Fend, make shift. Loup, leap. Spier, atk^ inquire. 




169 



THE STRICKEN BRANCH. 



[Whoever he is whose destiny leads him from "the spot 
where he was bom," let him prepare for many queer things, 
even in our own enlightened land. Is he a journeyman 
weaver ? shoemaker ? tailor ? Then just let him try to set up 
doing for himself in a small country town. If he does not 
^^ catch it" 4;hen from the brotherhood (brotherhood?), he is 
one in whom Providence assuredly takes a special interest. In 
every small community there is a vehement working of the 
Keep-out system, which is only changed for the Keep^dovm, A 
stranger is never welcome beyond the rule of " buy and come 
again''' The "Income" is a denounced animal. To wrong 
him in name and property is all for the common weal. 

The following is reluctantly inserted to show how fSw hu- 
man Ingratitude may be carried — ^reluctantly, because these 
verses seem to bear on some vagrant misfortune of the writer, 
and to reflect on the Sympathy, Justice, and Liberality of our 
enlightened. Free-trade-loving, Universal-brotherhood-advocat- 
ing,' fellow Burgher, Bailie Thinclaith.'] 

'T WAS a cauld cauld nicht, and a bauld bauld nicht, 
When the mad wind scoured the plain ; 

An' monie bonnie bush lay streikit and bare, 
Drown'd deid in the pelting rain. 
The lilac fell a' broken and bent, 
Wi' the leafless woodbine torn and rent ; 
And aye as the storm would swither and swell, 
Anither bush brak' — anither bush fell. 

Swithcf; hesitate^ lull. 



160 THE 8TBICKEK BRANCH. 

A Nettle stood strong in his native mad. 

Rank King o'er his native bog ; 
He withered aye in the clear daylight. 

But he fattened aye in the fog. 
He stung every flow'ret, — cursed every sweet : 
He spared nae the Docken that happit his feet ; 
For this was the song that the auld Nettle sung, 
"Darkness and dung, Beetles, darkness and dung!" 

[And the block Beetles chonts it, " Darkness and 
dung /"] 

In that cauld lang nicht, in that dark lang nicht. 

When the wild winds scoured the plain. 
An unkent Branch of an unkent tree 

Was tossed near the Nettle's domain. 
An' the weary — weedlike — withering thing, 
Lay low at the lair of that Nettle king ; 
Where nane might dare a byding place, 
But that King and his kindred Hemlock race. 

The bonniest half o' that Branch sank deid. 

An' its wee, wee bud unseen ; 
The ither took root an' reared its heid, 

Wi' its twa three Twigs alane. 

Heaven, pitying, held the wild wind fast. 

An' the Stricken Branch out-lived the blast ; 
The kindly sunbeam settled there. 
The branches braid'ning mair and mair ; 
And monie bonnie bird wi' willing wing. 
Had welcome there to nestle and sing. 



Docken^ doc\8, Happit, covered, Unkent, unknown. 




THE STRICKEN BRANCH. 161 

But, oh ! how the Nettle grew grim and dark, 

An' fumed in the shadow beneath ; 
How he bullied his legion of Beetles black ! 

An' his Hemlock dews of death ! 
The Beetles sought sair for a fallen leaf, — 
But the hundred eyes of the Hemlock Chief 
Could reach no farther than just to see 
The deep, deep green of the Stranger Tree. 



162 



THE FISHERMEN. 



[To record a sympathy in the well-earned gratitude owned 
by all to Lieutenant Dooley and his brave crew, is the best 
apology at hand for taking this long hold of the " Herald." I 
don't know Lieutenant Dooley, nor any other lieutenant, but I 
know there is more good in saying one fisherman than in 
sinking seven ships — ^barring the glory thereof. 



** Weel may the boatie row, 
And better may she speed.** 



We had the gratification, on Thursday afternoon, of witnessing 
one of the most affecting scenes that a person could have much 
chance of encountering in thexourse of a long life. It was no 
less than the meeting of fifty-three fishermen, whose lives had 
for a time been despaired of by their rejoicing relatives. It 
was a scene that no philanthropist should have lost, and one 
that none who witnessed it will be ready to forget. 

About four o'clock on the morning of New-year's day, the 
boats belonging to this port put out to sea, trusting to the ap- 
pearance of the weather. A part remained inshore, while nine 
of them made for the deep-water fishing. About six o'clock 
the moon set in a thick lowering bank in the north-west. The 
portentous omen was read aright by the fishermen, who, putting 
"up helm," rowed with might and main for the shore. The 
boats near the coast succeeded in reaching it ; but the others 
were taken by the hurricane eight miles from land, and. 



' THE FISHERMEN. 163 

although they struggled on with stout hearts and willing 
hands, the wind, wa^es, and hlinding snow were all against 
them, and, instead of making any headway, they drifted before 
the tempest. 

The wives and children, fathers and mothers, of the missing 
fishermen, looked upon themselves as bereaved of their only 
earthly support, and the objects of their fondest affection. Of 
some families there were three, of others four, amissing ; and 
the greater part were more or less connected with one another. 
To almost every house the touching language of the prophet 
might have been applied — " There was a voice heard, lamenta- 
tion, and weeping, and great mourning ; Rachel weeping for her 
children, and refusing to be comforted, because they were not." 
Through Monday night and Tuesday, this dreadM suspense 
continued ; and eagerly was the post of Wednesday morning 
waited for, as the ultimatum that should extinguish the little rem- 
nant of hope that was clung to by the unhappy community, or 
bring the anxiously prayed for news of the safety of their 
friends. The preservation of all was scarcely to be looked for, 
but their fondest hopes were more than realized. Intelligence 
came that all were safe ; and when the glad tidings were carried 
to Footdee,* the sudden revulsion from the extremity of sorrow 
to that of joy was evinced by the warmest transports, after a 
thousand fashions. Some poured forth warm, heartfelt thanks, 
some weeped, some danced, some sang ; but one feeling ani- 
mated all — the deepest, purest, and most intense joy that can 
fall upon the heart of man. 

The fishermen, after struggling for hours against the tempest, 
lost all hope of outliving it. Their boats were fast filling with 
water, and becoming entirely immanageable ; and, even had 
there been any possibility of working them, the poor men, with 
a few exceptions, were unable to stir themselves; they had become 
completely exhausted, and so benumbed with the piercing cold, as 
to be incapable of handling their oars. Death, in two forms, was 
staring them in the face, certain in the one or other. There 
was help at hand, however, when least expected. The Grey' 



* The fishing station. 



164 THE FISHERMEN. 

h€und cntter on this station, commanded by Lieutenant Dooley, 
while running before the wind, came in sight of the boats about 
eleven o*clock, off Findonness, and bore up to them. The 
greatest difficulty existed in taking the men from their fitiil 
crafts. Some of them were old and feeble, and in such a state, 
from wet and exposure, that made it necessary, as seamen say, 
to '^parbuncle** them; while the storm had risen to such a 
height that the mainsail of the cutter was carried away, and 
her work of mercy in some measure retarded. A trysail was, 
however, soon hoisted in its place, and, after an hour or two, 
the whole of the poor men were stowed away in warm berths 
or dry clothing, and all their wants most kincUy attended to by 
the warm-hearted commander and his gallant crew. Nor did 
their endeavours cease with the preservation of the lives of the 
fishermen; every attempt was made to save their pr opert y 
likewise. The boats were all made &st astern by a five-inch 
hawser, but the increasing storm dashed them one by one 
against another, stove them in, and soon rendered it necessary 
to set them adrift. The cutter then made for the Frith of 
Forth, and the whole of the fishermen were landed at Leith. 

At four o'clock on Thursday afternoon, the whole of the 
fishermen reached their homes, when the scene was the moat 
touching that could be imagined. About six or seven hundred 
in all were present — ^young and old — men, women, and children. 
'^Aberdeen Herald,'] 



LINES SUGGESTED BY THE ABOVE DISASTER. 



'T WAS the blythe New Year, when hearts are mov*d. 

Like fairy wind harp ringing, 
To the breathing smile of friend belov'd, 
In whisper dear — in noisy cheer — 
N ae fash, nae fear — the good New Year 

Sets the good old world asinging. 



THE FISHERMEN. 165 

But, oh! it is dark in the fisherman's cot, 

With the lively and lovely there ; 
Tho' the cold, cold wind, with its icy throat, 
Falls fiercely — yet one hears it not. 

Thro' sob, and sigh, and prayer. 

So that should be — ^when the terrible sea 

Speaks woe to the trembling earth — 
Hope wing'd away with the closing day. 
Now cold despair wraps all things there, 
And scowls o'er the fisherman's hearth. 

Man dies but once — oh, say it not ! 

He lives again to die, 
Whom the surly, surly sea has taught 

The hope-dissolving sigh ; 
When the stubborn arm that strains for life 

Falls feebly on the oar ; 
When the loved last look of child and wife 
Swims wildly o'er the settling strife, 

Oh, Death ! what canst thou more ? 



166 



LINES TO MISS LUCY LAWRENCE OTTLEY. 



WrUten at Naish, July, 1841. 



You may not love the lay 

Unhallowed by a tear, 
And she that 's far away 

Claims all that I can spare ; 
But when I let her ken, 

How you have pleasured me, 
She winna grudge it then 

Ae parting tear to thee. 

When other hours recall 

The joys that I ha'e seen 
In England's happy hall. 

On England's flowery green, 
When my own native lark 

Floats o'er my native lea. 
What can I then but mark 

Its kindred melody ? 




LINES TO MISS OTTLEY. 167 

For never yet mair sweet, 

Has lark or mavis sung ; 
And, oh ! that face to meet 

That saftly witching tongue ! 
My lastening heart will prize 

Your sang o' sweetness mair 
Than carrols frae the skies, 

Wi' a' its gladness there. 

My lowland lassie sings 

Far sweeter than the rest ; 
And a' her leal heart rings 

In sangs that I love best. 
Sae whan her soul-filled strain 

Fa's trembling on my ear. 
Oh ! but I '11 mind them then, — 

The sangs you sung me here. 

When o'er thy violet brow. 

And on thy changing cheek. 
And 'neath that breast of snow, 

A thousand throbbings speak. 
Oh, may the favoured ane 

Thy fair perfections see ! 
And love with love alane 

Befitting heaven and thee. 



168 



KNOCKESPOCK'S LADY. 



[An ancestor of James Adam Gobdon, Esq., the present Laird 
of Knockespock, (a) about a century and a half ago, m a second 
marriage, had taken to wife the lovely Jean Leith of Hart- 
hill (b). His affectionate lady watched the chamber of her sick 
husband by day and by night, and would not divide her care 
with any one. Worn out and wasted from continued attendance 
on him, she fell into a sleep, and was awakened only by the 
smoke and flames of their burning mansion; the menials had 
fled — the doom of the dying laird and his lady seemed fixed. 
In her heroic affection she bore her husband from the burning 
house, laid him in a sheltered spot, and forced her way back to 
the tottering stair, through the very flames, for " plaids to wrap 
him in."] 

Ae wastefu' howl o'er earth an' sea, 

Nae gleam o' heaven's licht 
Might mark the bounds o' Benachie (c) 

That black and starless nieht. 
Siclike the nieht, siclike the hour, 

Sielike the wae they ken, 
Wha watch till those lov'd eyes shall close 

That ne'er may ope again. 



Licht, light, Siclike, suchlike, Wae they ken, sorrow 

Nieht, night, Wha, toJw, they feel. 




\ 



knockespock's lady. 169 

As gin to tak' the last lang look, 

He raised a lichtless e'e ; 
Now list, oh, thou, his lady wife, 

Knoekespock speaks to thee ! 
" Sit doun, my Jeanie Gordoun love. 

Sit doun an' hand my head ; 
There 's sic a lowe beneath my brow 

Maun soon, soon be my dead. 

" Aye whaur ye find the stoun, oh, Jean ! 

Press there your kindly hand ; 
I wadna gi'e ae breath o' thee 

For a' else on my land. 
Your couthie word dreeps medicine. 

Your very touch can heal ; 
An', oh, your e'e does mair for me 

Than a' our doctor's skill !" 

She leant athwart his bumin' brow. 

Her tears lap lichtly doun ; 
Beneath her saft, saft, dautin' hand 

Knoekespock sleepit soun'. 
For woman's watch is hoUness— 

In woman's heart, sae rare. 
When a' the warld is cauld an' dark. 

There 's licht an' litheness there ! 



A', all. Lap lichtly, leaped Maun, must. 

Ae, one, lightly. Sic, euch, 

Couthie, Hndly, Licht, light. Stoun, throbbing pain, 

D^LMiiiL* J fondling. Litheness, uMinn^A. Wadna gie, vxm/cf tio^ 

Oin, (/*. Lowe, burning. give. 

Hand, hold. Mair, Tnore. Whaur, where, 

Lichtless, desponding. 



170 knockespock's lady. 

What 's yon that tints the deep dark brae. 

An' flickers on the green ? 
It 's nae the ray o' morning grey. 

Nor yet the bonnie meen ! 
Drumminor's(J) bloody Ha' is bright, 

Kildrummie's(«) sna' tower clear, 
An' Noth's(/) black Tap ca's back the licht 

To gowden Dunnideer.(^) 

Yon gleed o'er fast and fiercely glows. 

For licht o' livin' star. 
An' lo ! it marks wi' giant brows. 

The murky woods o' Mar. (A) 
The drowsy deer is fain to flee, 

Beyond Black Arthur's (0 hicht ; 
An' birdies lift a timorous e'e, 

To yon ill-bodin' licht. 

Whaur Bogie (A) flows, and Huntly(/) shows 

On high its lettered wa's ; 
An' westward far on Cabrach's(wi) breast. 

The ruddy glimmerin' fa's. 
Whaur monie a Forbes and Gordoun sleeps. 

On Tillyangus(7i) deein'; 
An* Mar's road sweeps, 'mid their cairn's grey 
heaps. 

The fiery flakes are fleein'. 



Ca', casts. Licht, light. Meen, momi. 

Gleed, glare. 




knockespock's lady. 171 

An' aye the flare that reddens there, 

Knockespoek weel may rue ; 
Nor Gadie's(o) stream can dit the gleam 

That wraps his dwallin' noo. 
Yet woman's love, Oh, woman's love ! 

The wide unmeasured sea 
Is nae so deep as woman's love. 

As her sweet sympathy ! 

Upon the wet an* windy sward 

She wadna lat him down, 
But wiled an' wiled the lithest beild 

Wi' breckans happet roun'. 
Knockespoek 'scauld, he's deadly cauld— 

Whaur has his lady gane ? 
How has she left him trembling there, 

A' trembling there alane ? 

An' has she gane for feckless gowd, 

To tempt yon fearfu' lowe ? 
Or is her fair mind, wreck'd an' wrang, 

Forgane its guidance now ? 
She fearless speels the reekin' tow'r, 

Tho' red, red is the wa'. 
An' braves the dearnin' din an' stour, 

Whaur cracklin' rafters fa'. 

Alane, alone. Forgaae, forgone, Speels, climbg. 

Beild, spot, Gowd, gold. Stour, dust. 

Breckans, bushes. Happet, covered, Wa', loall, 

Cauld, cold, Lithest, warmest, Wadna, would not. 

Din, noise. Lowe, blaze. Whaur, where, 

Dit, stop, Nae, not, Weel, well, 

Dwallin', dwelling, Reekin', smoking. Wiled, chose, 

YvL^fall, Roun', over, Wrang, torong. 
Feciless, feeble, 

l2 



172 knockebpock's lady. 

It is na gowd, nor gallant robes, 

Gars Jeanie Gordoun rin ; 
But she has wiled the saftest plaids 

To wrap her leal lord in. 
For woman's heart is tenderness, 

Yet woman weel may dare 
The deftest deed, an' tremble nane. 

Gin true love be her care. 

" The lowe has scaith'd your locks, my Jean, 

An' seorch'd your bonnie brow ; 
The graceless flame consumes our hdme — » 

What thinks my lady now ?" 
" My locks will grow again, my love. 

My broken brow will men'. 
Your kindly breast 's the lealest hame 

That I can ever ken ; 

" But, Oh, that waesome look o' thine, 

Knockespock, I wad gi'e 
The livin' heart frae out my breast 

For aught to pleasure thee !" 
Weel, woman's heart ! ay, woman's heart ! 

There grows a something there. 
The sweetest flower on bank or bower 

Maun nane wi' that compare. 



Aught, anything. Gin, i/*. Rin, run. 

Deftest, boldest. Ken, know. Waesome, woeful. 

Frae, from. Leal, true. Weel, well. 

Qwcsy makes. Maun, mti«^. Wiled, chose; Aber- 

Gi'e, give. Nane, not* donic^, for tooled. 




173 



NOTES. 

[Lest the reader miistake me as aspiring at Scholarship in 
the following notes, let me say this, — ^they were selected * and 
proposed by my friend Knockespock. In assenting to his 
insertion of them, I decline all responsibility. — W. T.] 

Knocheapock — Bums — Highland Harry, 

(a) Knockespock. ('' Bishop's Hill "), so called from having been the 
occasional residence of the Roman Catholic bishops of Aberdeen, is 
situated to the north of the Sole Hill, a continuation of the western 
shoulder of Benachle in the parish of Clatt, of which last the Barony 
was conferred by James I. of England and VI. of Scotland '* on his 
well-beloved James Gordoun of Knockespoke." Clatt was erected 
into a Burgh of Barony with all rights, &c. by King James IV. in 
1501, some years previous to the Battle of Flodden. The ancient 
mansion having been destroyed by fire, as the Poet herein describes, 
nothing remains of it but one old tower, the rest of the mansion be- 
ing of modem construction. The water is remarkable for its purity, 
and on accurate analysis proves to be more pure than that of 
Malvern. 

In the poem of Surg^ndo, written on the exploits of Sir Adam 
Gordon, of Auchindoun, in which the letters of every name tdre 
quaintly transposed, there are the following verses on one of the pos-r 
sessors of Eoiockespock :-— 

'' Four of most famous note the rest among 
For valiant acts in many a bloody fight, 
Paesenneock truely termed the loyall kuight.*' — p. 29. 



<' Loyall Pasennock 



aids him mlghtilie." — ^p, 61. 

The domestic affairs of Knockespock have many years ago be^ 
the subject of verse, in a lilt which records the unfortunate results 
which attended an attachment between Henry Lumsden, and 
a daughter of a lady of Knockespock, ending in the death of the 

• 

* Chiefly from the Spalding Club Volumes; The Advocates' 
Library MS. ; popular traditions ; Buchanan ; County Records ; 
Songs, LiltSy &c. — K, 



174' NOTES. 

Bum^ Uncle Burnet— Hartkill—Leith of BarthiU. 

lover, and the despair of the lady. In the country, far and near, it is 
still recited. The burden of her remonstrances to her mother, of 

" I wad gie a' Knockespock's land, 
For ane shake of Harry's hand," 

is natural and pathetic, and so pleased the poet Bums, that he 
transferred it as a chorus to his song of " Highland Harry." Most of 
Burns' editors have applied it to a fiurm of almost the same name, 
Knockespie, near one of Bums' residences in Ayrshire, but Allan 
Cunningham in his edition has placed the whole matter correctly, 
and shown that those lines existed before Bums was I)om, and the 
source whence he derived them. 

Bums, on his first visit to Aberdeenshire called on an uncle Bnmes, 
whom he had never before seen, and whose descendants, Bnmesses, 
yet reside on the same farm, at Boghead, near Inveruiy, — showed 
his MSS. to the cannie auld farmer, and mentioned his intention of 
publishing. The uncle was silent a while, unable to utter the horror 
working within. At last it burst forth, — ^' Worthless, senseless man ! 
how could ye think o' bringing a stain on kith and kin', by makJn' 
Godless ballets'!" Happily for the world, unhappily perhaps for 
himself, his advice displeased the poet. A late servant of the writer 
of this, Matthew Sharpe Olendinning, informs him that when a boy 
in Dumfries he perfectly remembers Burns as an exciseman coming 
to his mother's house. 

At Knockespock is a very large sword several feet in length, almost 
a fac simile of the one carried before Prince Charles Edward in 1745, 
exhibited in the Tower of London, but destroyed in the fire there a 
few years since, and some carved panels of arms of 1632. The high- 
way from Edinburgh to Inverness passes by Knockespock, little 
used of late years except by cattle drovers. The Highland distillery 
line passes close by the mansion. 

(J>) Harthill, a castle long possessed by the Leiths of Harthill, 
chiefs of that name, the heir of which family was beheaded at 
the Cross of Edinburgh, for his loyalty, by the Marquis of Argyle, 
26th October, 1647, being scarce 25 years old, having been taken 
prisoner with his garrison in the house of Wardes close to Dunnideer, 
by the celebrated General David Lesley. It is reported of him, that 
having obtained a commission from the Marquis of Montrose, but 
having no horses to mount his troop, and hearing that Craigivar of 
the opposite party with his troop Were lying at Inverury, by night made 
all prisoners, and with their horses mounted his own troop, making a 
good appearance in a day or two before Montrose, who highly com- 



NOTES. 175 

Benachie — Camp^-Rortuin Road — Moneymtuk — ^ Idivalloch^Lo- 
gie 0* Buchan — Lochnagar — Drummmor — Forbes — Ariosto. 

mended his conduct and courage. There is also a more affecting 
history connected with this old castle, namely, that while Harthill was 
imprisoned at Edinburgh, his castle was beset, and his wife, children, 
and servants taken out, and shot one by one before the gate. The walls 
bear evident marks of fire, being rent in several places from top to 
bottom, yet they are erect, very strong, being about five feet thick, 
and forty feet high, with round towers, bartisans, loopholes, an 
arched gateway and turret, and chimney vents above ten feet wide. 
This ancient ruin stands forward under the dark screen of Benachie, 
so as to attract the attention of the traveller along the high road from 
Inverury westward, from which it lies a mile distant. 

(c) '* Might mark the bounds of Benachie.** 

Benachie, the chief hill in the Garioch is Benachie, a mountain 
about seven miles long, it has seven heads, the chief of which being a 
round peak, is called the top. 

On the highest point is an immense British Camp which had been 
used by the Romans when wrested from the natives. A causeway 
road may still be traced up the north side of the hill to it, which, 
beyond all doubt, is a Roman work. (See the note to the Blind Boy's 
Second Prank, page 58.) Benachie signifies the hill of the paps or 
nipples from Ben, or Pen, a head, and Chiod, a nipple (Gaelic). It 
is a sea mark. An old verse says, — 

** There are two landmarks off at sea, 
Clochnabin and Benachie.'' 

It was one of the king's forests of old> 

On the south it is precipitous, and overhangs the river Don and the 
fertile vale of Moneymusk — Moneymusk known favourably to the 
dancing world by its spirited Strathspey. In fact Benachie is sur- 
rounded by spots redolent of harmony, — Aldivalloch, Logic o* 
Buchan, The Gadie Rins, and Mill o* Tiftie's Annie. Of late it has 
been ascertained that there were singing schools in every parish three 
or four hundred years ago, and the church music of the cathedral of 
Aberdeen was so celebrated that foreigners resorted thither to hear 
it; the very motto of the town, ''Bon Accord,'* smacks of music. 

From the top of Benachie, and in the same county of Aberdeen, 
the dark " Lochnagar," which inspired George Gordon, Lord Byron's 
muse, is clearly seen in the remoter Highlands. 

( cT) " Drumminor*s bloody ha\** 
Druminnor, for many centuries the chief residence of the Forbes 
family, and called Castle Forbes till it was sold off, when it resumed 



176 NOTES* 

Feast cti Drummin&r—Bobert Brtice. 



its ancient Gaelic name, and the name of Castle Forbes was giyen to 
the present seat of Futachie, in the parish of Eeig, dose to the riyer 
Don. The name was- pronounced For-bes, which is consistent with 
the verse of Ariosto — 

'* Signoria Forbesse il forte Armano.'* 

Orlando Furioto. 

who describes the clau as joining Charlemagne's army against the 
Saracens. 

A reconciliation feast was once held there, to which their here- 
ditary enemies the Gordons being invited were seated alternately with 
the Forbeses. The " toddy '' having got uppermost in the noble Forbes's 
upper story, in a fit of oblivious delight he stroked his venerable 
beard — a signal hitherto understood to convey a hint, that each 
Forbes should make the ribs of his neighbour acquainted with his 
dirk. The hint was taken, and the Gordons rolled in their g^re. 

Great portion of the ancient castle was destroyed by fire, but 
the entrance tower still remains of red sandstone, with three coats 
of arms over the thick iron-studded door to a winding stair of 
easy and wide ascent. The walls are enormously thick ; a hand- 
some and convenient mansion has been attached by the present 
possessor, Mr. Foularton Grant, in the Elizabethan or James I. 
style. 

In the adjoining kirkyard of Keam, it is said that sixteen barons 
of Forbes are buried. The estate marches with that of Knockes« 
pock. Druminnor lies within a mile of Rhym'e, celebrated for its 
cattle fair, and where Macbeth's sons were slain, and about three 
miles from the summit of the Tap of Noth, which is seen to the 
greatest advantage from it. 

(e) " Kildrummie^s sna* touer clear.^ 

This castle, a royal palace, the chief seat of the Earls of Mar. in 
which district of Aberdeenshire it stands, is in ruins, but some re- 
mains of it are very interesting. The '' sna tower '' is built of a white 
stone, whence its name. This castle, so remote among the hills, was 
the refuge of Robert Bruce's queen and his brother Nigel; but 
being besieged by the Earl of Salisbury, it was take^i, and they 
were made prisoners. Nigel was hung at Berwick, by hated 
Edward, as a traitor! and the queen inhumanly treated. Near 
the castle is a pleasant shooting-lodge of Colonel C. Gordon, of 
Wardhouse. It was the centre of Mar's rebellion in I7I5. The 



KOTES. 177 

Kildrumfnie^Tap of Noth — Jhmnideer— Arthur's Bound Table* 

church is distant; and in 1813 had a tomb of one of the Erskines, 
Barl of Mar, and his Countess. 

Near Kildrummie are a large number of Pictish houses under 
gproundy of most curious construction, which are often visited. 

Kildrummie is about seven miles from Knockespock, by the Mar 
Boad. 

(/) " Noth's black Tapr 

The Tap of Noth is a lofty eminence, rising to a green cone at the 
western end of its dark heather ridge. It is surmounted by an area, 
surrounded with the debris of vitrified fortifications, which are coal- 
black. There are only two others like it in Scotland, one Craig Phatric, 
near Inverness ; some have thought it an extinct volcano, and its 
form is favourable to the conjecture; and there are found small masses 
of vitrified matter at some miles around ; but the fort seems un- 
deniable. The Bogie runs at its foot, and it forms one of the entrance 
hills to Strathbogie. 

In the midst of the vitrified fort of the Tap, which may cover 
about one and a half acre, there is a well. 

This mountain, with the greater part of the surrounding country 
to the north and west, is the property of the Duke of Richmond, the 
heir of the Dukes of Gordon. 

(jg) " To gowden Dunnideer,'^ 

Dunnideer* On a lofty green conical hill stand the ruins of the 
castle of Dunnideer, looking at a distance like a huge Druidical 
remain. It was built by King Gregory, who died here 893. There 
is a tradition that the hill has gold ore under it, because the sheep'fr 
teeth which feed upon it turn yellow, and that the name of the hill, 
Doun d'or, signifies the golden mount. The castle is built In the 
midst of a vitrified fort. 

In Jhon Hardyng's map of Scotland, constructed about the yeas 
1466, appear '' the castells of Strabolgy, of Rithymay, of Don^ 
Dowre ;" and the writer seems to indicate the place as one of those 
where King Arthur held his Round Table, so famous in old ro-» 
mance: — 

<' He held his household and the Rounde Table 
Sometyme at Edinburgh, sometyme at Striveline,- 
Of Kynges renowned and most honourable; 
At Carlysle sumwhile, at Alcluid his citie fyne, 
Emong all his Knigbtes and Ladies full femenine y 
And in Scotlande, at Perthe and Dunbrytain-, 
In Comwaile also, Dover, and Cairelegion ; 

I 5 



178 NOTES. 

Mar — EarU of Mar — Mar'' 8 Rebellion, 1715. — Arioito — Buchan, 

At Danbar, Dunfirse, and St. John's Toune^ 

All of worthy Knights moo than a legion, 

At Donydoure also in Murith region, 

And in many other places both Citie and Tonne.'' 

(A) " The murky woods of MarP 

Mar, the Highland district of Aberdeenshire, very extensire 
and mountainous. In the forest of Mar, in the very heart of the 
Highlands, are the celebrated Scotch firs in the midst of the most 
splendid scenery imaginable. It was under the pretence of great 
hunting matches in this remote district, that Erskine, Earl of Mar, 
whose chief seat was the castle of Kildrummie, concocted the 
Rebellion of 1715, which ended in his ruin and confiscation. The 
Earldom had been in the family of the Mars, which, having 
reckoned nine earls, ended under King David the Second. Through 
a daughter it came to the Earls of Douglas, then the Stewarts, then 
the Erskines, the Cochranes, and to James Stuart the Regent, Earl 
of Murray, natural brother to Queen Mary, who restored it to the 
Erskines. James the Eighth created the last John Earl of Mar a 
Duke in 1715, thus fulfilling Ariosto's prophecy two hundred years 
previously, who in his Orlando Furioso writes, on the muster of the 
Scottish auxiliaries sent over to Charlemaine, 



and again. 



'' L'altra bandiera e del Dnca di Marra." 

'' Trasone intanto, 11 buon Duca di Marra, 
Che ritrovarsi all' alta impresa gode. 
Al cavalieri suoi leva la sbarra, 
£ seco invita alle famose lode." 

Orlando Furioso. 

Mar is a regality; it abounds with red deer. The writer saw in 
the church of Kildrummie, in 1813, a flat stone, with the effigies of 
one of the Erskines, Earl of Mar, and his Countess. The forfeited 
estates were computed at 16782. sterling, of which only 3172. were 
paid in money, the rest being paid in barley, oatmeal, capons, hens, 
chickens, geese, linen, and peats. 

Aberdeenshire has been peculiarly honoured by Ariosto ; not only 
has Mar been recorded in his Orlando, and as we have just seen the 
clan of the Forbes's, but the following lines refer to Buchan and its 
Earl:— 

^ Quell' avolt6r che nn drago verde lania. 
El' inseg^a del conte di Boccania." 

Orlando Furioso, 



NOTES. 179 

Black Arthur, of Forbes', Cairn — Bogie river — Stratkbogie — 
Alexander, Duke of Gordon — Huntly, 

(t) " Beyond Black Arthur's htcht,*' 
Black Arthur's hicht. One of the highest hills in this part of 
the country, covered with heather to the top, is called Arthur's 
Cairn, some suppose from a cairn or sepulchral heap being raised 
to the memory of Black Arthur of Forbes, who, it is reported, by 
way of exercise used to run up to the top of it from Druminnor (then 
Castle Forbes) in heavy armour. He was slain in the battle of 
Tillyangus, hereafter mentioned. 

(k) " Where Bogie flows:' 
Bogie. The river Bogie rises in a wild hill glen, called Glcn- 
bogie, and passing by Rhynie— on the moor of which it is said 
the sons of Macbeth were slain (as also that Macbeth himself 
died at Lumphanan, a parish a few miles distant) — flows 
some dozen miles down the Strath, which takes, its name from it, 
recently rather celebrated for its Fast and Free Kirk differences, 
until it falls into the Deveron under the walls of Huntly Castle, 
which however, as well as. the town around it, used to be called 
Strathbogie. It was from this vale that the best warriors of the 
Gordon clan were taken, and there is a very old defiance of-— 

« Wha wou'd misca' a Gordoun on the raes o' Strathbogie V* 

There is nothing picturesque in this fertile valley, unless it be the 
windings of the Bogie, so remarkable for its peculiarly blue colour ; 
whereas the Deveron into which it falls is very dark. 

It would not be just, or g^teful, in the writer to omit mention here 

of the well known Song, composed by Alexander, late Duke of 

Gordon, one of the best musicians and lively poets in that line of 

ballads : — 

'' There 's cauld kail in Aberdeen, 
There 's castocks in Strathbogie, 
And monie a lad maun hae his lass, 
But I maun hae my cogie.'' * &c. &c. 

In Duke Alexander^ the Poet might, and toould, have found a 

patriotic patron, who from his own could duly estimate the worth 

and genius of others. 

'* Hunc saltern accumulem donis et fungar inani, 
" Munere ! " 

(Q " and Huntly shows 

On high its lettered wallsJ* 

Huntly t This castle is one of the finest ruins in Scotland. It 
in fact consists of two castles — one, the oldest, Strathbogie Castle, 

• Cogie, a drinking cup. 



180 VOTES. 

Cummin-^Loehaber^JBcLdenoch'- Castle of Tours* 

the stronghold of the Cummin, whom Robert Bmoe stabbed at 
the altar of Dumfries, and who, on the Bruce proving yicto- 
rious, forfeited his immense possessions, which were made over by 
that king to his fiEiithful follower Gordon, in whose descendants 
it has continued ever since, though by marriages with females the 
present family are Setons, and the real head of the clan by the 
males is Gordon of Pitlurg. To show the extent of the possession, 
which may be said to stretch across the island from the east coast 
of Aberdeenshire to Ben Nevis on the west, in 1813, the writer 
was informed that the Duke could ride in almost a straight line 
for one hundred and forty miles on his own property. Sinee-4hat 
the Gordons have bid '' farewell to Lochaber ** and to **" Badenoeh/' 
after having been lords of them for five hundred years, they having 
been sold off. On the occasion of the late Duke's marriage the 
writer sat down at Gordon Castle with forty-four gentlemen of the 
name, all of considerable landed property ; and to show how widely 
it is diffused in Aberdeenshire, his was the forty-ninth of that name 
on the roll of magistrates of that county. 

The other castle joining to the former was built in 1602, and wa» 
habitable till within the last fifty years, when one of the duke's 
factors in his absence despoiled it of its roof and a great part of its 
freestone masonry to repair farm-houses ! The round tower, very 
lofty, and ornamented, with walls of tremendous thickness, capable 
of sustaining heavy cannon, reminds the traveller of some of the 
towers of Heidelburgh ; and it is said that it was built by an Barl 
of Huntly, who, having been banished by party feud, was made 
governor of the castle at Tours, in France, and built this on a similar 
plan. The sculpture, over the low but principal entrance, of coata 
of arms and figures, though much defaced, is still remarkable for its 
execution ; but the chimney-piece in the grand saloon, nearly twenty 
feet high, displaying the arms and orders of the two then United 
Crowns, with the different &mily arms, and mottoes, and legends, with 
two figures in armour, one leaning on the great Highland double- 
handed sword, the ether with the Scottish pike flanking both sides 
of the fire-place, and supporting the entablature, all executed in 
the red and white stone of the country, may well vie for design, for 
colouring, and for feudal associations, with any chimney-piece at 
Hatfield, or Burleigh, or any houses in England of a similar date 
and style of architecture. The display of the Royal arms, carved in 
stone over the great hall chimney-pieces in this castle, in Craigievar, 
and the oldest castles in Scotland, confirms the address of the old 
Earl of Angus to Lord Marmion, at Tantallon . — 



NOTE&. 181 

Huntly Cattle — Lettered toalU^Doingt cf EarU qf Huntly — Bttck 
of the Cabrach — Ordnance Survey — Craig, 

" My castles are my king's alone, 
From turret to foandation-stone." 

Along the curtain of this magnificent building, and about sixty 
feet from the ground, run two parallel bands of stone, on which are 
inscribed in Roman capital letters of two feet in height, 

" Oborgb Gordouk, first Marquess op Huntly,** 
" Henrietta Steuart, first Marquise of Huntly.*' 

Hence the " lettered walls.** In the interior of the castle 
there are several carved chimney-pieces in stone, one of which, 
supposed to be in the state bed-room, represents the effigies, 
nearly the size of life, of the founder and his haughty wife. 
Some of the feudal and almost unmentionable proceedings of some 
of the ladies of this castle, and of its lords too, as relating to the 
clans Grant and Macintosh, not to mention others, may be found in 
Sir Walter Scott's Tales of a Grandfather, and tend to reconcile one 
to living in an age of Railways and Steam when the humblest 
weaver may indulge his poetical foncy, and delight with his effusions 
the tran»- Atlantic and far distant Indian worlds, without having his 
head or hands chopped off for the offence. 

(m) " An* far far west on Cabrach' s breast,** 

Cabrach, There is another version of this stanza too true to na- 
ture and poetry to be omitted. 

It whitens o'er the gladless grey, 

Of Cabrach's rugged breast. 
But Tillyangus' bloody brae 

Frowns redder than the rest." 

The Buck of the Cabrach is the highest mountain in these parts, 
rising gradually to a point. At the foot of it lies the bum, and what 
was once the mill of Aldivalloch, but of Roy's wife's habitation there 
remains nothing but the hearth stone. 

On the summit of the Cabrach is one of the stations for the 
triangular ordnance survey, which, although it has been thirty 
years about, does not seem to have done much, although the 
country are paying largely for it. The country about here is very 
backward, and it is said that if they can save one crop out of four, 
they consider themselves well off! The bum of the Cabrach 
descends to the eastward through the picturesque glen, and imme- 
diately under the House of Craig, allowed to be the most romantic 



182 NOTE&. 

Arthur Johnston^ poet of Caikiehen — Lines ad Gordanium Cra- 
gachindorium — Auchindore Chapel. 

and beautifully kept place in that part of the country, and a little 
lower down under the ruins and burying - ground of the ancient 
church of Auchindoir, (of which, however, the beauties can hardly be 
discovered, owing to its being enveloped in ivy, and looking more like 
a bush than a ruin,) falls into the Bogie. Arthur Johnston thus ad- 
dresses Gordon of Craig, otherwise Gordonium Cragachindorium : — 

<' Siccine, Gordoni, Cabriis affixus ericis, 

Urbe procul, rupes inter, et antra, lates ? 
Quid ju vat ingenio genium vicisse Minervs, 

Ingenii dotes si sinis usque premi? 
Quid juvat, Aonise fontes siccasse cohortis. 

Si fruitur studiis Cabria sola tuis 1 
Quid prodest, mores hominum vidisse, vel urbes, 

Nulla tuam si res publica sentit opem ? 
Hie ubi tu latitas, nil prseter lustra ferarum, 

£t ccbU volucres, saxaque surda vides. 
Nullum hie, qui doctas haurire aut reddere voces, 

Aut a te quidquam discere possit, habes.* 
Barbara gens tota est, et inhospita terra, pruinis 

Semper, et eestivo sub Cane, mersa nive." 

&c. &c. 

The poet was bom at Caskieben, a castle belonging to his family, 
situated on a rising ground, a few hundred yards east of Keithall, 
close upon Inverury. Describing his native place, he writes : — 

'' Mille per ambages nitidis argenteus undis 
Hie trepidat Icetos Urius inter agros. 
Explicat hie seras ingens Bennachius umbras 

Nox ubi libratur lance diesque pari. 
Gcmmifer est amnis, radiat mons ipse lapillis,*' &c. 

Arthur Johnston received the degree of M.D. at Padua, 1610, and 
settled in France. In 1633 he returned to his native country, was 
appointed physician to Charles I., and died at Oxford, 1641. The 
classical elegance of his verse, and the purity of his Latin in his 
translation of the Psalms, and his other poems, has been long acknow- 
ledged. Arturi Johnstoni, Poemata omnia, p. 362. A new edition is 
about to appear. 



* Not only voices, words, but even sentences, are reported to have 
been heard occasionally in the ruined chapel of Auchindoir, which 
have created g^reat interest, and some alarm. Does the poet allude to 
them? 



NOTES. 183 



Cabrach — Six Scotch Knights — TUlyangua — Surgundo — Last clan 
battle in Scotland — Forbes and Gordon — Black Arthur slain. 



The Cabrach must have been the very cradle of those six valiant 
knights, who for so many centuries effectually fought for, and 
maintained the Honour and Independence of Scotland. 

" Three Knights fair Scotland did defend,— 
Sir Moss, Sir Muir, Sir Mountain ; 
Three more to these their aid did lend, — 
Sirs Hunger, Cold, and Dountin'.'** 

(n) " On Tilly angus deein\** 

Tillyangus. This place, formerly a lairdship, is about a mile and 
a half from Knockespock, and now belongs to that property. 

Here was fought, October 9, 1571, the last regular clan battle in 
Scotland between the Gordons and the Forbes's, on the heather 
above the present toun (as it is called in Scotland), which means 
generally a small cluster of habitations. 

John, Master of Forbes, who stood up for James YI., then a 
minor, had one hundred and twenty of his men surprised and killed 
by Sir Adam Gordon, of Auchindoun, Huntly's brother, who fought 
for Mary (Queen of Scots). The political differences of these great 
clans had been aggravated by the ill conduct of Forbes to his wife, 
who was sister to the Earl of Huntly. Tillyangus lies a mile and a 
half from Knockespock, where the Gordons coming from the 
south to go northwards to their own country, mustered for several 
weeks, while the Forbeses had their outpost half way between 
Tillyangus and Castle Forbes (Drumminor). At length they met— 
The Gordons were far more numerous than the Forbeses. This, 
however, was compensated by the bravery of Black Arthur, second 
brother to the Lord Forbes, a man of a daring and active temper, 
who was completely armed, and slew many of the Gordons with his 
own hand. After a gallant fight the Forbeses gave way, retiring to> 
wards Castle Forbes. Black Arthur, with a chosen few, protected 
their rear. In crossing one of the small rills descending from the 
hills he was slightly wounded, and it is said was offered quarter, 
which he refused, fighting on, till in his retreat he crossed the hollow 
of another small bum. Here, overcome with thirst, he stooped to 
drink, and by doing so an opening in the joints of the armour was 
made, through which one of his pursuers coming rapidly upon him 
thrust his sword and killed him. The Gordons now followed rapidly 
their fiying foes, who took refuge in Castle Forbes. After two days 



Dountin ', fighting. 



184 NOTES. 

Castle Forbes siege — Attempt in Paris to assassinate Sir Adam 
Oordon by a Forbes— View from Mar road — OcuUe, 

ineffectual siege tlie Qordons abandoned their attack upon the Castle, 
and proceeded northwards, having, in the death of Black Arthur, 
struck a mortal blow at the power of the rival clan. 

The bitterness, however, of feudal revenge survived, and some of 
the Forbes family determined to avenge Black Arthur's death upon 
the opposite leader, Sir Adam Gk>rdon. Sir Adam having gone to 
Paris with several gentlemen of his suite was received with great dis- 
tinction by the French king (Charles). The Archbishop of Glasgow 
was then ambassador from Scotland to the court of France, and in- 
vited Sir Adam and his friends to a splendid supper. On his return 
from the Archbishop's hotel to his lodging about midnight, he and 
his train were set upon by armed men, and it was only after a severe 
struggle in which Sir Adam received a shot through the knee that 
the assassins were put to flight. In the pursuit, one of them dropped 
his hat, which being picked up appeared to have belonged to one of 
the name of Forbes. Inquiries having been set on foot, the whole 
conspiracy was traced, and the leaders of it put to the rack, and 
executed. 

The Mar road passing by Kuockespock is a green turf road in the 
midst of the heather, winding along the side of the hills to Kildrum- 
mie, affording along the whole way very pleasing views of a large 
portion of the Oarioch, Strathbogie, and Mar, the Tap of Koth, the 
Buck of the Cabrach, Huntly Castle, Drumminor, Craig, Leith Hall, 
Gordon Hall (otherwise Wardhouse), Clova, Glenbogie, the rivers 
Gadie and Bogie. 

(o) Gadie, see « The Wedded Waters," p. 142, 148. 



185 



INDEX OF PERSONS AND PLACES. 



»J 



»» 



»» 



»» 



»J 



»» 



n 



»» 



»j 



Aberdeen, City of Old, 147, 148 
Bishops o^ 173 
Cathedral of; 71.175 
Diocese of, 116 
Cit7ofNew,7.39.43. 
46. 51. 68, 69, 70. 
84. 91. 111. 116, 
117. 179 
Herald, 40. 53. 164 
Journal, 41 
Infirmary, 136 
School of Industry, 

155 
Shire o^ 39. 108. 
175, 176, 178. 180 
Aberdeen, Earl of, 116 
Abemethy, Sir Wm., 69 
Adam, Jas., Esq., 40. 86 
Alcluid (Glasgow, on the 

Clyde?) 177 
Aldivalloch, 175. 181 
Alford, 147 
Allen, 26 
America, 21 

Anderson, Lieut.-Gen. An- 
drew, 79, 80 
Angus, 68, 69 

„ Earl of, 180 
Annie, 64 
Aoth, King, 98 
Argyle, Marquess of, 174 



Ariosto, 176, 178 
Arthur, Black, of Forbes, 170. 

179. 183, 184 
„ King, 177 
Auchindoir, 182 
Auchindoun, Sir Adam Gror- 
don of, 173. 183 
Ayrshire, 174 

Badenoch, 180 

„ Wolf of, 77 
Balgounie, Bridge of; 147, 148 
Balguay, 24, 26 
Balquhain, 67. 69. 71 
Balquhidder, Braes of, 14 
Banff, Sheriffdom of, 148 
Bass of Inverury, 98. 147 
Belmont-street, Aberdeen, 7 
Benachie, 58, 59. 70. 98. 104. 

125, 126. 133. 143. 148. 

168. 173. 175 
Ben Nevis, 180 
Berwick-on-Tweed, 176 
Bimam Wood, 85 
Blackstone, Judge, 56 
Boccania (see Buchan) 
Bogie, 170. 177. 179. 182. 184 
Bohemia, 116 
Bon Accord, 175 
Bruce, King Hobert, 74. 147. 

176. 179 



186 



INDEX OF PERSONS AND PLACES. 



j» 



»» 



Brace's Queen, 176 

„ Nigel, 176 
Buchan, 69. 178 

Earl o^ 178 
Constable of France, 

175 
„ Logie o^ 175 
Bucket, 147 
Burleigh House, 180 
Burns (Poet), 174 
Burnes, 174 
Byron, Lord, 13. 147. 175 



Cabrach, 170. 181, 182. 184 
Cabria (see Cabrach) 
Cairelegion (Caerleon), 177 
Calcutta, 191 
Caledonia, 18 
Cameron, 110 
Cardin Brig and Muir, 65 
Carlisle, 177 

Cauld Kail in Aberdeen 
(Song), 179 

Ceres, 73 
Chalmers, 42 
Chambers, Robert, 21 
Chantrey, Sir Francis, 52 
Charlemagne, 176 
Charles I., King, 116 

„ King of France, 184 
Charles Edward, Prince, 174 
Cheyne, Bishop, 147 
Cheynes of Essilmont, 115 
Clatt, Barony of, 173 

„ Parish of, 143. 173, 174 
Clochnabin, 175 
Clova, 184 
Cochrane, 173 
Constantinople, 71 
Cooper, John, 27 



Cornwaile, 177 

Corrichie, 71 

Craig, House of, 181, 182. 184 

Craigievar, 174, 180 

Cndgphatrie, 177 

Cromwell Park, 32 

Cults, 116 

Cummin, ]80 

Cunningham, Allan, 52. 174 

Cupar- Angus, 21 

Cyprus, 65 



David n., King, 71. 178 
Davidson, Sir Robert, 69 
Dee, 98 
Deveron, 179 

Don, 54. 68, 69. 98. 123. 147, 

148. 176 
Donald of the Isles, 68 

„ Tomb of, 70 
Donnydowre (see Dunnideer) 
Dooley, Lieut., 162, 164 
Douglas, Earl of, 71. 178 
Dover, 177 
Dram, 69. 71 
Drumdurno, 59, 60 
Dramminor, 170. 175, 176. 

179. 183, 184 
Drummond (of Hawthorn- 
den), 69 
Dumfermling, 116 
Dumfries, 174. 180 
Dumourier, 74 
Dunbar, 178 

Dunbritayn (Dumbarton), 1 77 
Dundee, 21. 23. 110 

„ Constable of, 68, 69 
Dunfirse (Dumfries), 178, 179 
Dunnideer, 170. 174. 177, 178 
Dunsinane, 85 




INDEX OF PERSONS AND PLAGES. 



187 



Eadiin Rusidh ni Cath, 71 
East Indies, 79 

Edinburgh, 48. 116. 118. 174. 

177 
Edward I., King, 176 
Elgin, 78. 80 

„ Cathedral of, 77 
Elizabeth Thorn (see Thorn) 
Elphinstone, Sir Robert Home 

Dalrymple, Bart., of Logie, 

47 
England, 52. 166. 180 
Eoth, 98 
Errol, 29, 30. 32 
Erskines, Earls of Mar, 177, 

178 
Essilmont, 115 

„ Cheynes of, 115 
„ Miss Grordon of, 1 1 5 
Ettrick Shepherd, 14 

Fetterneir, 67, 68, 69. 71 
Findonness, 164 
Firth of Forth, 164 
Flodden, 173 
Footdee, 163 

Forbes, 71. 170. 175, 176. 178, 

179. 183, 184 
„ Castle of, 175. 179. 

183, 184 
Forgue, 1 15 
Forfarshire, 5. 21 
FoundlandHm, 115 
France, 180. 184 

Gadie, 58. 98. 143. 148. 171. 

175. 184 
Garioch, 39. 54. 58. 175. 184. 

„ Chapel of, 69 
Gartly, Castle of, 148 



German Ocean, 148 
Gillespie, Elspet, 84, 85 
Gilzean, Marjory (Gillan), 78 
Glasgow, Archbishop of, 184 
Glenbogie, 184 
Glenbucket, 147 
Glendinning, Matthew Sharpe, 

174 
Gleneifer, 14 
Goldsmith, 34 

Gordon's Hospital, Aberdeen 

13 
Gordon Hall, 184 
Gordon, Robert, of Straloch, 

148 

„ of Craig, 182 

„ Miss, of Essilmont, 

115 
„ Bruce*s friend, 180 
„ ofPitlurg, 180 
„ Sir Adam, of Auch- 
indoun, 173. 183, 184 
Gordoun, George, First Mar- 
quess of Huntly, 181 
„ Alexander, Duke of, 

177. 179 
„ Col. Charles, R. A., 

176 
Gordon, Barron and Co., 46. 

50 
Gordon, Clan, 170. 176. 179. 

183, 184 
Gowrie, Carse of, 24. 30. 32 
Grant, Clan, 181 
Grant, Foulerton, 176 
Gregory, King, 177 

Hardyng, Jhon, Chronicle, 177 
Harlaw, 59. 68, 69, 70, 71. 98 
Harthill, 168. 174, 175 



188 



INDEX OF PBBSOKS AND PLACES* 



Hatfield House, 180 

Hawthomden, 70. 115 

Hector Rufiis Bellicosus, 71 

Heidelberg, 180 

Highland Harry, 173 

Highland Distillery Line, 174 

Holland, 74 

Homer, 34 

Huntingtower, 32 

Huntly, Earl of, 71. 180. 183 
Marquess o^ 181 
Marquise of, 181 
Castle of, 170. 179. 

184 



j» 



>» 



>» 



Inchmartin, 26 

Inchture, 24 

Inverness, 70. 114. 177 

Invernochty, 147 

Inverury, 3. 39. 43. 47. 54. 68. 

70. 74. 98. 110. 133. 134. 

136. 148. 152. 154. 174, 

175 
Irvine's, 68 

„ Sir Alexander of Drum, 

69.71 
Isles, Lord of the, 70 

James I. of England, 173 

IV. of Scotland, do. 173 
VI. „ do. 173. 

183 
Vm. „ do. 178 

Jamie, 112. 131, 132. 

Jean, 58 

Jessie, 93, 94 

Johnston, Arthur, 182 

Keam, 176 
Keig, 176 
Kelly, 115 






»» 



»j 



Kildrummie, 170. 176, 177, 

178. 184 
Einnaird, 24. 27, 28 
Eintore, Lass o^ 123, 124 
Enockespock, James Gordouii 

173 
George, 168, 169. 
171, 172 
JeanLeith,(£[nock-* 
espock*s Lady,) 
169. 172 
James Adam Gor-* 
don, 27. 41. 42. 
44, 45. 49, 50. 52. 
173 

Enmia Eatherine, 

Dedication to, 52 

Water, Marches, &c 

173. 176 

Place, 173, 174. 177 

168, 183, 184 



>» 



w 



n 



» 



Lauchlan Lubanich, 71 
Lauriston, 69 
Leith, (Town) 79. 164 
Leiths, 168. 174 
Leith Hall, 184 
Leopold I. Emperor, 71 
Leslies of Balquhain, 71 
Walter, 71 
John, 71 
„ Count, 67, 68. 70 
Leslie, Andrew, 69 
Leslie's Cross, 69 
Lesley, General David, 174 
Lochaber, 180 
Lochnagar, 175 
Logic o' Buchan, 175 
„ Elphinstone, 65. 142, 

143 



»» 



n 



INDEX OF PERSONS AND PLACES. 



189 



London, 21, 51, 52. 79. 116. 

133. 174 
Lovels, 68 

„ James, 69 
Lumphanan, 176 
Lumsden, Harry, 173, 174 



Macbeth, 176 
Macdonald, 71 
Macfarlane's Collections, 70 
Macintosh clan, 181 
Macintosh, 68, 69, 70 
Maclean, 68, 69, 70 
Macnaghten, 50 
Maiden Stone, 61 
Malvern Water, 173 
Mar, 39. 170. 178. 184 
Mar, Earls of, 68, 69, 70. 176 

178 
Mar's Road, 170. 177. 184 
Marmion, 180 
Mary, 91, 92. 96 
Mary, Queen of Scots, 71, 183 
Maules, The, 68 
Maule, Sir Robert, 69 
Meams, 68, 69 
Meggy, 153 
Menzies, Sir Thos., of Cults, 

116 
Methlick, 115 
Methven, 33, 34, 35 
Mill of Tiftie's Annie, 175 
Mirimachi, 18 
Montrose, Marquess of, 175 
Moneymusk, 175 
Moore, Thomas ( Anacreon) 1 3 
Morayshire, 77. 178 
Mortimer, Isabel, 69 
Murith (see Morayshire) 
Murrays, The, 68 



Murray, Earl of. Regent, 178 
Murray, Sir Thomas, 69 
Naim, 72 
Naish House, 166 
Newton, by Old Rayne, 98 
Newtyle, 5. 21, 22 
New York, 191 
Niel Gk)w, 16 
Nigel, Bruce, 176 
Nochty, 147 
Northumberland, 144 
Noth, Tap of, 170. 176, 177. 

184 

Ogilvie, Sir Alexander, 69 

„ George, 69 
Old Rayne, 98 
Orlando Furioso, 175. 178 
Ottley, Lucy Lawrence, 166 

Paesenneock, 173 
Paisley, 118 
Panmure, 69 
Paris, 184 
Paphos, 55 
Parnassus, 18 

** Peasant, worthy," name un- 
known, 27 
Peggy of Bontore, 124 
Perth, 32, 177 
Peterhead, 108 
Pictish Houses, 177 
Pitlurg, Chief of Gordon Clan, 

180 
Pitmachie, 51 
Pittodrie, 58, 59, 60, 61 
Playfair, 24 
Putachie, 176 
Ravenscraig Castle, 108 
Rhynie, 176. 179 



190 



INDEX OF PERSONS AND PLACES. 



Richmond, Duke o^ 177 
Rithemay, 177 
Robertson, J., Esq., 133 
Ross, Earl of, 70 
Round Table, 177 
Ro/swife, 181 

Salisbury, Earl of, 176 

Saltoun, 69 

Saracens, 176 

Sclavonia, 71 

Scotland, 52. 57. 69. 98. 115, 

116, 117, 118.140.177.180. 

183, 184. 
Scott's, Sir Walter, T^es of 
a Grandfather, 181 
Scrymgeour, Sir James, 68, 69 
Shelley, 108. 121 
SpaldmgClub, 116. 
Steuart, Henrietta, 181 
St. Johnstoune, 178 
Stirling, Alexander, 69 
Stirlings, 68 
Stocks, 93 
Straiton, 68 

„ Sir Alexander, 69 
Straloch, Robt. Gordon of, 148 
Strathbogie, 39. 177. 179. 184 
Strathdon, 147 
Strivelme (Stirlmg), 177 
Stuart, James, Earl of Mur- 
ray, 178 

Suie HiU, 173 
Surgundo Poem, 173 

Tannahill,poet and weaver, 14 
Tantallon Castle, 180 
Tay, 97, 98 
Thinclaith, Bailie, 159 
Thom, William, 50, 51 



9» 



?> 



?? 



Thorn, Jean or Jeanie, 36. 

97. 133. 138 
„ Jeanie, 25. 27, 28 

William, or Willie, 
25. 47. 51. 133, 134, 
135, 136. 139 
Elizabeth, or Betsy, 

47. 51. 133, 134 
James, or Jamie, 47. 

51 
Thomas the Rhymer, 98 
Thompson, Dr., of Inverury^ 

50 
Tillyangus, 170. 179. 181. 183 
Tours, Castle of, 180 
Tring, 93 
Tytler, 70 
Tweed, 98 



Ugie, 108 

Ury, 54. 57, 58. 68. 70. 97, 98. 
121, 122, 123. 143, 147, 148 



Venus, 55 
Vienna, 71 
Volney, 9 

Wallace, 71 

„ Tower, 71 
Wallenstein, Count, 71 
Wardhouse, or Wardes, 174. 

176. 184 
Waverley, 13 
Weekly Chronicle, 48, 49 
Willie, the Porter, 91 



Ythan, 115 
Ythanside, 114, 115 



191 



THE AUTHOR'S ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 

In taking leave of my readers for a time — I trust 
we may meet again — I would just like to allude to 
certain matters resulting from the First Edition of 
this little book. For its success, and the good 
things that followed, my prime thanks are due to 
the Public Press : It, with little exception, ex- 
hibited the best portions of my book, with the 
best eflPect. Above all, they found in my narrative 
and song a text from which they worked a powerful 
and enduring sympathy towards the Trade-stricken, 
whose sorrows and shiftings are but too feebly told 
in my own experiences. 

That same is no mean reward. 

A selfish and personal pity was never sought 
for hy me, — nor had I a single wish all the 
while beyond the utterance of my private feelings, 
and the pleasure such utterance afibrds to a stifled 
and unregarded sufiering. I made no appeal. Yet 
there have arisen many friends willing to see me 
above the chances of again tasting the evils I 
attempted to describe. From these friends I have 
received a suflSciency to make good a beginning, — 



192 THE author's acknowledgment. 

enough, with ordinary prudence, to carry me and 
mine safely onwards. The details of what I merely 
now hint at, are well recorded, and will be spoken 
of another time. But now Pride alone (Gratitude 
unmentioned) urges me, on the instant, to acknow- 
ledge handsome donations, from my co.untrymen 
and others, in New York and Calcutta, accompanied 
by kind and earnest expressions of regard. These 
sums are now invested for the future good of my 
three children. Whatever else we possess will be 
applied, with our best indugrtry, for our common 
happiness. 



June 4thj 1845. 

WILLIAM THOM 



Printed by Stswart and Murrat, Oreen Arbour Court, Old Bailey. 



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« ^ 

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age and for. every library.'" 



3i 



Vol. 3, containing the " Huguenot," a Tale of the French Protestants, 
will be published on the 1st of January, IS^S, and will contain, in 
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whose vraisemblance is always so perfect; and even what he invents so like truth, that 
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size, and handsome in appearance. It, moreover, possesses the advantage of being re- 
vised and corrected by the author, — no small reconunendations, since, the generality of 
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" We are glad to perceive that such volumes are being published at a price which will 
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THE LIFE OF MAEGAEET BEAUFOET, 

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MEDICAL GUIDE FOR MOTHERS, 

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*<,* In order to secure to science the fall advantage of Discoveries in Natural 
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1. 

By the Authority of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty. 

Now PubUshing in Royal Quarto Parts, Price 10s. each, with beautifully Coloured 

Plates. 

THE ZOOLOGY OF THE VOYAGE OF H. M. S. SULPHUE, 

Under the Command of 
- CAPTAIN SIR EDWARD BELCHER, R.N., C.B., F.R.G.S., &c 

Edited and Superintended by RICHARD BRINSLEY HINDS, Esq., 
Surgeon, R.N., attached to the Expedition. 

The extensive and protracted Voyage of Her Hajesty*s Ship "Sulphur," having been produc- 
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and in the circunmavigation Of the globe. In many of these, no doubt, the industry 
and research of previous navigators may have left no very prominent olijects unobserved, 
yet in others there will for some time remain abundant scope fitNr the Naturalist. Among 
the countries visited by the " Sulphur," and which in the present state of science are 
invested with more particular interest, may be mentioned the Califomias, Columbia River, 
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Animated by a devotion to science, the following gentlemen have liberally engaged to 
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PLAN OF PUBLICATION. 

I. The work will extend to about Twelve Parts, one of which will appear on the 1st 
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IL The Parts wiU be published at the uniform price of Ten Shil&ngs, and it is in- 
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on the 1st of January wiU be published Part 8, containing the completion of Shells. 

2. 

In Royal 4to. Parts, Price 10s. and 128. each, containing on an average Ten beautifully 

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ILLUSTRATIONS OF 

THE ZOOLOGY OF SOUTH AFBICA: 

Comprising Figures of all the new species of Quadrupeds, Birds, Reptiles, and Fishes, 
obtained during the Expedition fitted out by <*The Cape of Good Hope Association for 
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By ANDREW SMITH, M.D., Surgeon to the Forces, and Director of the Expedition. 

%* The whole of the Plates are engraved in the highest style of Art, from the Origina 
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3. 

Uniform with the preceding: 

THE ZOOLOGY OF THE YOTAGE OF H.M.S. BEAGLE, 

UNDER THE COMMAND OF CAPTAIN FITZROY, R.N. 
DURING THE YEARS 1832 to 1836. 

Edited and superintended by CHARLES DARWIN, Esq., MA. F.R.S. Sec. G.S. 

Naturalist to ttie Expedition. 

Comprising highly-finished representations of the most novel and interesting objects in 
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Figures are given of many species of animals hitherto unknown or but imperfectly 
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The collections were chiefly made in the provinces bordering on the Rio Plata, in 
Patagonia, the Falkland Islands, Tierra del Fuego, Chili, and the Galapagos Archipelago 
in the Pacific. 

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FOSSUL MAMMAUA. 

By Richard Owen, Esq., F.R.S., 

Professor of Anatomy and Physiology to 

the Boyal College of Surgeons, London. 

With a Geological Introduction, 

By Charles Darwin, Esq., M.A., F.R.S. 

This Division of the Work complete. 

Price 1/. 10s. in sewed Parts, or 1/. lis, 

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MAMMALU. 

By George R. Walerhouse, Esq., 

Curator of the Zoological Society of 

London, &c. 

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By Charles Darwin, Esq., MJk., F.R.S. 

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Nos. 127uri?and 17. 

FISH. 
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REPTILES. 

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Price 18s. in sewed Parts, or 1/. 2s. in 
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4. 
Uniform with the preceding, 

THE BOTANY OF THE VOYAGE OF H.M.S. SULPHUE, 

Under the Command of 
CAPTAIN^SIR EDWARD BELCHER, R.N., C.B., F.R.G.S.,&c., 

During the Years 1836-42. 

Published under the Authority of the Lords Commissioners of the Admu*alty. 

Edited and Superintended by RICHARD BRINSLEY HINDS, Esq., 
Surgeon, R.N., attached to the Expedition. 

The Botanical Descriptions by GEORGE BENTHAM, Esq. 

Parts I., II., in. and lY. are nour ready, price 10s. each, and Part Y. will be Published 

on the 1st of January. 



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THE ONLY COMPLETE AND UNIFORM EDITION OF THE WORKS OF 

SIR HUMPHRY DAVY. 

THE LIFE AND COLLECTED 

WOEKS OF SIB HUMPHBT DAVY, BAET. 

forsigh associatb of the htstitutb of francs, &c. 

Edited by his Brother, JOHN DAVY, M.D. F.R.S. 

Now complete, in 9 Vols, post 8vo., Price 10s. Cd. each, in doth binding. 

Contents of ti$ 17oIuine0;->0oUr separatelj?. 

VOL. I. 

THE LIFE OF SIR H. DAVY, WITH A PORTRAIT. 
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throughout." — London Retiew. 

VOL. II. 

THE WHOLE OF Sir H.DAVYS EARLY MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS, 

FaoM 1799 TO 1805; 

WITH AN INTRODUCTORY LECTURE, AND OUTLINES OF LECTURES ON 

CHEMISTRY DELIVERED IN 1802 AND 1804. 

VOL. III. 

RESEARCHES ON NITROUS OXIDE, 

AND THE COMBINATION OP OXYGEN AND AZOTE; AND ON THE.RESPI- 

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VOL, IV. 
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WITH TWELTB PLATES OF CHBMICAL APPARATUS, j 
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MOETAL LIFE ; 

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PHILOSOPHY AND EELIGION, 

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V. THE COUNTRY TOWN. 



VI. LIVE AND LET LIVE; OR, THE 

MANCHESTER WEAVERS. 
VIL THE SOLDIER. 
VIH. THE LEASIDE FARM. 



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Second Edition, demy 12mo., Price 3$. bound. 

A SYSTEM OF AEITHMETIC, 

With the Principles of Logarithms. Compiled for Merchant Taylors' School. 

By BICHARD FREDEBICK CLARKE, Teacher. 

"The great object attained in this excellent work is a most judicious abridgment of the 
labour of teaching and learning every branch of Arithmetic, by rendering the Rules and 
Explanations so very simple and intelligible, that the study becomes a pleasure, instead of 
a task, to the youthful pupil.' 



ft 



24mo. 2s. doth boards. 

THE GEAMMAEIAN; 

OR, THE ENGLISH WRITER AND SPEAKER»S ASSISTANT: 

COMPRISING 



Made easy to Foreigners, with instances of their Misuse on the part of the Natives of England. 

ALSO 



Designed to correct Improprieties of Speech and Writing. 
By JAMES BEATTIE, LL.D. 



Just Published, in 1 Vol., demy Svo. with Illustrations, price 12s. doth. 

HISTORICAL RECORD OF 

The Honourable East India Company's 

ilBST MADRAS EUROPEAN REGIMENT; 

Containing an Account of the Establishment of Independent Companies in 1645, 
their formation into a Regiment in 1748, and its subsequent Services to 1842. 

By A STAFF OFFICER. 



In 1 Vol., Post 8vo., Price 9s. doth lettered. 

THE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF SOCIETT IN INDIA ; 

Induding Scenes at the Mofussil Stations, interspersed with Characteristic Tales and 

Anecdotes: to which is added 

A GUIDE TO CADETS 
And other Young Gentlemen, during their first Years' Residence in India. 

By Mrs. Major CLEMONS. 
<< We need not recommend this book ; the space we have given to it is an ample proof 
of the pleasure we have enjoyed in its perusal. We earnestly advise every person inter- 
_^ esled in India to read it." — ^Atlas. 



24 'WOmJKB PVBU8BBB BT 8BCZTB, SXiBBlt AWB CO. 

Tost published, royal ISmo., price 4s., doth gilt. 

GBISELDA; 

A Dramatic Poem, 
Translated from the German of Frbderick Halm. 

By Q. E. D. 
*' An elegant translation of an elegant German poem." — Athenaum. 

" In condasion we would strongly recommend '* Griselda" to our readers ; assuring 
them that, in our opinion, they will not easily meet with anything so deserving of 
popularity, either from the purity of the style, the interest of the story, the fidelity of the 
translation, the easy flow of the rhyme, or the elegance of the language." — Foreign 
AND Colonial Quarterly Review. 

Just Published, in Demy 8vo., Price 10s., handsomely bound in doth. 

THE COLUMBIAD. 

Comprising geographical sketches and a narrative of nautical adventures in the Eastern 
Seas, indudmg the perils of a storm, and providential escape from shipwreck; — ^with 
m^itations on a future state. 

By ARCHIBALD TUCKER RITCHIE, Esq. 
In Demy 8vo., price 6s. bound. 

DATS IN THE EAST. 

A Poem in Two Cantos. 

Descriptive of Scenery in India, the departure from Home, the Voyage and subsequent 
Career of an Officer in the East India Company's Army. 

By JAMES HENRY BURKE, Esq., of Marble HiU; 
Lieutenant Bombay Engineers ; Member of the Bombay Branch of Royal Asiatic Society. 

"The Stanzas of Mr. Burke bespeak at once high feeling, a vigorous cultivated intelli- 
gence, and a delicate poetic taste." — Morning Herald. 

<<The execution is even, finished, and good." — Weekly Chronicle. 



In post, 8vo., sewed in wrapper. 

THE ANGLO-INDIAN AND COLONIAL ALMANACK, 

AND 

CIVIL, MILITARY, AND COMMERCIAL 

DIEECTOEY 

Fob 1845. 

The HOME DEPARTMENT of the Almanack will comprise— I. Citil and Eccle- 
siastical; including the Government ofiices and the In^a House; together with the 
forms of procedure, and educational studies, requisite for obtaining civil appointments, 
and all matters connected with those appointments, from the commencing salary to (he 
retiring allowance. U. Military and Marine ; including information of a similar kind 
respecting these services, and the Home Establishment of the East India Company, 
in. Commercial ; containing Lists of Merchants, Agents, Associations, &c., throughout 
the United Kingdom ; likewise, the trades connected with India and the Colonies; and 
tariff of Indian and Colonial produce. 

The EAST INDIAN AND COLONUL DEPARTMENT will embrace— L Civil: 
The Government lists of Bengal, Madras, Bombay, Ceylon, Hong Kong, Australia, New 
Zealand, Mauritius, and the Cape of Good Hope; lists of Civil Servants and their appoint- 
ments, and of Judicial Establishments, with a detailed account of the Benefit Funds. 
II. Military: Staff and Field Officers; distribution of the Army, including the Royal 
troops; Ecclesiastical Establishment ; and all Benefit Funds. III. Commercial : List 
of Mercantile Firms, Banks, Insurance Companies, Public Institutions, &c., in India add 
the Colonies; with the respective Tariffs, and Tables of Money, Weights^ Measures, &c.y 
and other miscdlaneous information. 



LoBdou: Printed by Stbwa&t ic Mcbrat, Old Bailey. 



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